Third Spring
by Hekate1308
Summary: James C. Novak had lived a long and satisfying life when he befriended his young neighbour Dean Winchester. At least he thought so, until an ill-advised game of cards gave him the opportunity to experience what he had missed out on. But he knew he had to leave all of it behind to save a life. A Dean Cas Big Bang 2016 story
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: Here it is, my DCBB. Enjoy, and if you want to read this story with awesome graphics, go to** **works/ 8571541/ chapters/ 19650820**

"All clear, Mr. Novak."

"Thank you, Dean", he said earnestly, holding out a cup of herbal tea.

The young man huffed; he had insisted repeatedly in the past that he didn't like the beverage, but always drank it when offered, so James did it every time.

"It's no trouble, really."

The retired teacher begged to differ. It had been snowing almost every day since September 18 (he might no longer have to keep to a schedule, but he still noted every day meticulously, just as a way to pass the time) and it was the middle of November now. Which meant that Dean had come home from the garage and not only shovelled his drive, but James' as well, for two whole months. When he had first started, James had offered to pay him, but Dean had declined so vehemently that he had never dared to repeat it.

They had known each other for a little over a year, since Dean had moved in and knocked on his door to introduce himself, but had only had limited contact until this winter. James only left his house to buy groceries anymore, or on the rare instances someone needed him as an interpreter, and he never socialized. There wasn't anyone left to see.

And yet, when the snow had come and he had resigned himself to clearing his drive, a task that had only grown more and more difficult over the years, he had opened his door and found Dean already at work.

"Don't worry, Mr. Novak!" he'd called out. "I got this."

It had been the first time James had invited him into his house. He'd learned a lot about Dean Winchester that evening. He was thirty years old (fifty-one years younger than James; and why he deemed this important, he couldn't say); he was a mechanic who was hoping to open his own garage and specialize in restorations. He had a younger brother who had studied law at Stanford and was in the process of becoming a lawyer.

He was smart, and kind, and funny.

And when he had asked about James, he had found himself confiding in someone for the first time in years.

"Nine languages? You speak nine languages? I barely manage my own – that's so cool, dude!"

He laughed. "I assure you, after the third it's more of a habit, really. I taught in different countries; France, Austria, Slovakia – the US, of course – "

"Wow" Dean replied, taking a sip of his tea. "I'm living next to Phileas Fogg". When James looked surprised, he grew defensive. "I read."

"I never said you didn't. I just didn't expect you to have perused Jules Verne."

He shrugged. "I read it to Sammy all the time when he was a kid. He freaking loved it."

He looked sad.

"You must miss him very much" James said softly.

Dean nodded.

"He's living his dream though, can't really begrudge him that. What about you? Any brothers or sisters?"

"Not anymore" he answered.

"Oh – I – sorry, man, I just – "

James shook his head. "It's alright."

It was. He had slowly grown accustomed to the loneliness that accompanied old age.

"Have you – " Dean stopped himself.

"Ever been married?" James finished, guessing his meaning. It was one of the questions young people always asked.

"No. It never came to pass". There had been a few people he could have imagined spending his life with. But it had not been meant to be, and he had finally accepted that his old dream of finding a wife or husband (well, life-long partner – the verdict of the High Court had arrived much too late for him) would never be fulfilled.

He had ordered his life accordingly, and if he had been lonely now and then, he had at least been content.

Ever since that first evening, he and Dean had spent more time together, usually after Dean was done clearing the snow away.

It had taken almost two months for him to understand why the young man's visit had become the highlight of his days.

But this evening, Dean insisted they put his fire place to "good use"; and as he watched the warm glow of the fire dance across his cheek and make his green eyes sparkle, he realized.

One of the languages he had learned and taught was German.

The Germans had a word for what he was feeling.

 _Der zweite Frühling._

The second spring.

Dean Winchester was a beautiful man with a big heart, and for the first time in over three decades, James felt butterflies in his stomach when he looked at him. He had almost forgotten what it felt like, to smile just because someone was near; to bask in the warmth of a person's laughter; to be content to be silent together, as they sometimes were when Dean was too tired to talk but still wanted to spend time with him. Or maybe he was just too polite to say no.

There was no carnal desire in his – he supposed he could call it a _crush_. All of this had burned out long ago in countless lonely nights, leaving only the vague feeling of emptiness that vanished when Dean was near.

He had had to become eighty-one years old to find his life's great romance.

James Novak was not naive enough to believe that Dean suspected – or would have welcomed his feelings for him. He was an old man admiring the beauty of a young man, and no one would ever know.

Sometimes, though –

Sometimes, when he was half-asleep or dozing off in his favourite armchair, he imagined what would have been if he and Dean had been the same age when they met. In reality, of course, he would have been too shy to approach the beautiful man and nothing would ever have come to pass; but in his dreams of a different life, untainted by bitterness, only touched by a certain wistfulness, he was brave enough and charming enough, and Dean's eyes lit up when he entered the room. Dean listened to him and Dean laughed with him, and something happened.

And James Novak didn't grow old alone.

They were nice dreams.

Just like it was nice to open his door and see Dean, flushed from the work in the snow; like it was nice to hand him a mug of tea, their fingers brushing; as it was nice to listen to him talk about his little brother, his hobbies, cars, anything at all.

In return, James told him of the memories he had made, the countries he had visited, the people he had met.

One evening, he pulled out the language instructions he had written over the years. They were still wildly in use; and he would have lied if he hadn't said it was one of his proudest achievements.

Dean, though, was more interested in something else.

"What does the C stand for?"

"Sorry?" he asked, surprised.

"The C. I've seen it on your mailbox too. James C. Novak. What does it stand for?"

It had been a long time since someone had been interested enough in him to ask. James suppressed a smile as he replied teasingly (teasingly? He was starting to act like a teenager) "You'll never know."

"That's unfair, Mr. Novak. Here I am, toiling away at your driveway – "

Mr. Novak. Dean had never called him by his first name, although James had asked him to do so more than once. His answer had been a cheeky grin and "I would never call a teacher by his first name!"

And there was something special in the way he pronounced _Mr. Novak_ , or maybe it was just James' imagination. He had never really liked his first name anyway. It didn't hold any meaning. Unlike the C. Dean had just asked about.

Castiel.

His mother and her love for angels. All throughout his partly adopted family, she had bestowed names of angels on those she loved. Gabriel, Raphael, Castiel –

There, however, his father had intervened, and so, as his brother Gabriel had told him once, he got away with "the normal name". He got lucky.

James wasn't so sure. Nothing about him had ever stood out.

Maybe that was why, throughout his long life, he had always kept the C. He had never been only James Novak. He had always been James C. Novak.

And maybe that was the reason he didn't want to tell Dean now. In the manner of a silly old man in love, he wanted to keep something for himself, something for Dean to be curious about.

"No reason to divulge my deepest and darkest secret."

"But – "

He winked at Dean (good God, was he becoming senile?)

Dean stopped and grinned.

"I'll get it out of you eventually."

James didn't doubt that he would, but it was a fun game to play.

"I had to translate for a Polish man today" he told him another night. Dean seemed surprised.

"I thought you were retired."

"I am, but there are still some institutions and police men who prefer it when I do it. And I enjoy it. Keeps me on my toes."

"And here I thought that's what I was doing."

James hoped he didn't blush, but the chances weren't good.

"You are certainly... a good distraction."

Dean burst out laughing. "Man, Mr. Novak, you know how to flatter a guy."

His blush grew worse. He knew. He had always made people feel uncomfortable. His social skills had never improved much, despite decades of teaching children and teenagers.

"Hey".

Suddenly there was a hand on his upper arm. James looked at the long, slim fingers, felt somebody's else's body heat and suddenly, just for a second, a faint echo of what it had been like to be overcome by desire returned to him. He was glad when the moment was over. He was already being silly enough.

"I didn't mean it like that, Mr. Novak. I'm sorry."

Dean looked so genuinely concerned that he couldn't help but smile.

"It's quite alright."

Dean took his hand away. James was at the same time relieved and disappointed.

And this night, his dreams included being held by strong, warm arms.

It was about a week later that everything changed. November had almost imperceptibly turned into December, Dean was still shovelling both of their drives, and one evening, just as they had sat down and the younger man wanted to start the fire, James' phone rang.

It was the police.

"Officer Johnson speaking. I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Novak, but we need you hear. Mr. Krushnic only speaks Russian and we can't reach any other interpreter – "

"It's no problem, officer" James said, already contemplating how long it would take a taxi to get there, "I'll see you in about an hour."

As he stood up, Dean was already putting on his jacket, flashing him a grin.

"At least you finally get to see Baby in all her glory."

Dean's car, the 67 Impala. James had watched her from his window often enough, and he knew Dean cared for the car so much he had made sure she (it had become a habit to refer to the car as female, he couldn't help it) was winter proof so he could drive her all year round.

"You really don't have to – "

"No point in calling a taxi when a driver's right here. Come on."

And so James sat next to a beautiful man in a beautiful car, as he had dreamed about sometimes when he was younger, much younger.

Dean told him he'd wait for him at the police station, and James would have protested, only he knew it would be useless.

His good mood was somewhat dampened when Officer Johnson greeted them, obviously relieved.

He pointed at a bench and told Dean, "You can wait here, Mr. Novak."

Cas felt mortified. In the next moment, he chastised himself for being silly. Of course they thought Dean was his son or grandson. What else were they supposed to think?

Dean seemed amused, and explained the situation.

The last thing James saw of him before he made his way to the interview room was his bright, happy smile and the thumbs up.


	2. Chapter 2

Mr. Krushnic turned out to be a young man of twenty who had thought it was funny to break into a grocery store when he and his friend had found it closed. Thankfully, he quickly turned out to be sorry for what he had done and promised the owner to pay the damages, so that they were done in about half an hour.

As he stepped out of the room, another officer approached him. James smiled. He had always liked Jody Mills.

"Mr. Novak."

"Officer Mills" he greeted her. He was about to ask how her son was doing, until he recalled that he had been killed in a car accident almost ten years ago. He was thankful he had remembered in time.

"I'm sorry to trouble you, I know it's late, but earlier this day, we apprehended a man suspected of running an illegal casino. And he doesn't talk – we don't even know if he speaks English."

James nodded. He had had several such cases; normally he found a language that at least corresponded well enough with the one the detainee spoke to conduct a preliminary interview.

"Would you tell my neighbour it will take a little more time?"

Jody nodded. "Of course. I don't think he will mind. He and Donna are bonding over donuts."

James smiled, recalling Dean's fondness for pie.

"He's very nice" Jody said, but James could see no suspicion or disapproval in her eyes and breathed an unconscious sigh of relief.

It was ridiculous to feel guilty over a crush anyway.

"He is" he answered simply. "Where is the – "

"Follow me" she said and led him to the cells.

The man in the holding cell surprised Cas. He was wearing a suit and looking completely unconcerned that he had been arrested.

"Good evening" James greeted him. "My name is James Novak. I'm an interpreter."

The man looked at him, but said nothing. And yet...

James had had interpreted for many people. And he always knew when they had some idea what he was saying, some rudimentary understanding of what was going on.

This man... James was ready to swear he understood everything that he said. But he still decided to try before he told Jody.

He attempted French, German, Russian, Spanish and one or two other languages, but the man was still smiling at him. He had drawn a pack of cards out of his pocket (and a quick glance at Jody proved that he shouldn't have had them) and was playing around with them, making some disappear then reappear, mixing them in different ways.

James sighed. "I'm sorry, Officer Mills, but if he chooses not to talk, there is little I can do."

"It's perfectly alright" she assured him, "I – "

"As a matter of fact, I'm getting bored. If I could have a phone..."

They turned to look at the man.

"Glad to hear you talking, sir" Jody answered. "Would you please tell us your name?"

"Langleben. Patrick Langleben" he answered and James frowned.

He had heard many strange surnames over the years, but this one literally translated to "long life."

Jody sighed. "I'll get you a phone."

"If you would stick around, Mr. Novak" he suggested politely. "Like I said, I'm starting to feel bored."

Jody wanted to protest, but James shook his head. What was he going to do to him anyway? He was too old to worry about the time he might lose if something happened to him.

"I'll be fine. He's locked up."

She nodded and glared at Mr. Langleben before leaving.

He chuckled. "She really doesn't like me."

"I think your childish pretence of not speaking English rather annoyed her" James replied.

He whistled. "Your social skills seem to be lacking."

He shrugged. "I didn't want a good officer to be accused of pettiness."

Mr. Langleben nodded. "You are right about that. I appreciate honesty." He eyed James. "How old are you?"

He was taken aback by the abrupt change of topic, but didn't see any harm in answering. "Eighty-one".

He hummed. "Not everyone gets to live so long."

"Not everyone gets to live" he said before he could stop himself, thoughts of Dean invading his mind.

"That is true enough. Have you?"

"Have I what?"

The other man was playing with his cards again. "Lived."

"I suppose" he answered. He hadn't fulfilled all his dreams. And Dean made him remember that he had never found "the one". But it had not been a bad life. Not at all.

Patrick smiled. "Well, I suppose we always want more, don't we?" He mixed his cards once more. "Care for a game?"

James frowned. "I don't play poker."

"Come on, we need something to occupy our time, don't we? Since Officer Mills happens to be speaking to the other officer and your friend. I must say, he is quite handsome."

There was no way he could know that. James involuntarily took a step back. Langleben sighed.

"It's called a bluff, Mr. Novak."

Of course. He stepped forward again.

"If you care for a game..."

He felt rather silly that he had let himself be intimidated. They had talked about Dean on their way to the cell; somehow he must have heard that he had been driven here by a neighbour.

"I always do. So, a game needs a stake. What are ours?"

"I'm not playing for money..."

"Oh no, Mr. Novak. Money is so... pedestrian. Let's play for years."

"Years?"

"Of our lives" he clarified, but James was as confused as before. That was the strangest stake he had ever heard of, and it didn't matter in the slightest. One couldn't play for additional years of one's life, tempting (he didn't think of Dean) as the thought was.

"I fail to see – "

"Well, then you have nothing to lose, right?"

James decided to humour him. Officer Mills would be back any second with the telephone anyway.

He had once learned how to play poker, his brother Gabriel be thanked, and he still knew roughly what he was supposed to do; and somehow, the game lasted long enough for them to slowly raise the stakes. They had begun at five years, and since James realized he was actually having fun (and didn't have bad cards) he soon said, "Ten."

Without chips, they did the math in their heads. It wasn't difficult at all.

Langleben smirked. "Twenty."

This went on until James declared, "Fifty."

Langleben nodded. "Fair enough..." He studied James. "I have a feeling about your hand..." He paused dramatically before declaring, "Alright. I give up."

As it turned out, he would have beaten James if he hadn't folded, but he simply shrugged and laughed. Officer Mills came back with the telephone and he snatched it out of her hands, to her obvious disapproval.

"Good night, Mr. Novak. Fifty years. Use them wisely."

"Goodnight" he answered and left with Officer Mills.

"What was that about?"

"We played a game to pass the time" he said, realizing how tired he felt. He wasn't thirty anymore, he couldn't run around translating until the middle of the night.

Dean was surrounded by several officers, laughing about something a blonde woman had said to him. James smiled. Apparently he wasn't the only one who couldn't resist Dean's charms.

When he saw them, he got up immediately. "There you are! All done?"

He nodded. Dean beamed. "Good, then."

They left after having said goodbye to a very thankful Jody and Donna, the new officer, having put her "super secret recipe" for donuts into Dean's hands.

"Man, I'm telling you, you gotta try those! They are delicious!"

He continued talking as they drove home, and James allowed the comforting rumble of his voice to lull him into semi-consciousness. He couldn't remember ever having felt so drained before... and it had come so suddenly too...

The realization that he was probably dying, that he was working up a heart attack or a stroke, was not the shock he would have expected it to be. He had lived a long life, he had frequently been happy; he had even fallen in love once more, right at the end, when all his days had seemed to blend together. Dean had given him a new reason to smile, a reason to get up. He had many things to be thankful for.

He forced his eyes open because, if he was not going to see the next day, he wanted one of the last things he ever saw on this earth to be Dean Winchester.

He watched the lights he passed illuminate his freckles, listened to what he had to tell him about the Impala, and realized he was happy. He was in love once more, one last time, and he was ready to go.

Dean insisted on accompanying him to his door, probably out of fear that he would fall down. When they reached his house, he turned to James with worry in his eyes.

"Are you alright, Mr. Novak?"

"I'm fine" he assured him before giving into temptation and pulling him into a hug.

Aside from casual brushes and the hand that had rested on his arm, they had never touched before; but he felt even weaker than he had at the police station, was sure this was his last night on earth and he wanted, no, needed to _feel_ Dean. He was strong, warm, solid in his arms, and just for a moment, James was young again.

Then Dean squeezed and let go.

"Ah, man".

It had started to snow.

"Guess I'll be back on duty tomorrow. See you then, Mr. Novak".

"Goodnight, Dean" he said and watched as his young neighbour wandered back to his car, snow getting caught in his short hair.

He entered his house and decided against going to bed. He felt like he was about to pass out, and he could just as well die on his couch.

As he laid down, he thought of Dean, his smile, his bright soul. Yes. If he had to die, he wanted to think of him –

The sun on his eyelids woke up. He felt much better than he had the night before, much better than he had for quite some time; he couldn't remember when he had last woken up without any aches and pains.

He stood up much more quickly than he should have been able to manage, but was still too drowsy and strangely happy to think about it. A glance at his watch proved that he had slept longer then he usually did. Dean must already be working on his driveway – maybe he could help him –

He shook his head at himself. The whole reason he knew Dean was that he couldn't do it by himself. What was the matter with him today?

As he was making himself a cup of coffee, someone knocked on his door. Normally Dean just left in the mornings; he didn't say hello like he did in the evenings. He quickly went to open it, hoping nothing was wrong.

"I just wanted to check up on you" Dean said quickly as the door opened, "You seemed a bit under the weather last night – "

He stopped and stared. James was confused until he asked, in a gruff voice, "Who are you?"

"What do you mean, Dean?"

He frowned. "And how do you know who I am?"

James was really worried now. Dean was not acting like himself, and they had seen each other every day for months. He should be able to recognize him. Maybe he had slipped and hit his head after dropping him off?

"Dean – " he began, when he caught his reflection in the glass panel of his door in the corner of his eye. Somehow, it confused him. He couldn't pinpoint how exactly for a moment, but then it hit him.

He turned his head.

The man who was looking at him in the glass was undoubtedly James C. Novak.

Or rather, James C. Novak – fifty years ago.


	3. Chapter 3

He blinked. That wasn't possible.

He raised his right hand. The young man in the reflection did as well.

"As soon as you're done admiring yourself – what are you doing here? That's Mr. Novak's house."

He was lost for words.

Dean squinted at him. "Actually, you kinda look like him... you a relative or something?"

He opened his mouth, closed it again. Was this a dream? But it felt real. Should he tell the truth? Dean would never believe him –

Before he had made a conscious decision, he heard himself speak. "Yes. James Novak is my... uncle." He remembered that he looked like thirty and corrected himself, "Grand-uncle, actually."

It felt strange to talk about himself in the third person, but he had no other choice. He could barely believe what was happening, so why should Dean?

"Your uncle, hm?" Dean glared at him. "He never mentioned you."

"His relationship with the family is... rather strained. He had a falling out with my grandfather, his brother, over thirty years ago. I don't really know him, but..." James trailed off for a moment before coming up with an idea. "When the hospital called, I felt I had to – "

"Hospital? James is in the hospital? I never heard an ambulance! I knew I should have stayed with him last night – is he alright?"

He had waited so long for Dean to pronounce his first name, and in Dean's voice it didn't sound boring. He swallowed before answering, "He had a heart attack. Right now, no one's allowed to visit. He's in a very bad condition." He congratulated himself on the quick thinking that had prompted this excuse; Dean seemed ready to jump into his car and drive to the hospital any second.

"Not that you seem to mind" Dean commented, clearly agitated, and James realized he would have to act differently if he wanted his neighbour to trust him. He shook his head and yawned exaggeratedly.

"I'm sorry. I spend half the night in the hospital, and I didn't sleep well." He shook his head again as if in an effort to clean it.

Dean immediately looked apologetic, and James felt guilty at having lied to him.

"That sucks, man. And of course your uncle – you know what, make it up to you. I'll make breakfast."

"I – you really don't have to – "

And Dean moved past him into the house.

He had now and then prepared little snacks for them to eat in front of the fireplace, so he knew his way around the kitchen; when James entered, he had already taken out a pan and was starting on what looked like French toast.

He looked beautiful in the morning light. James felt heat course through his veins. He really felt like he was thirty again, looking at the man he had feelings for.

"You really don't have to..." he tried, but Dean shook his head.

"It's no problem. I owe it to you, really. I shouldn't have been so hostile, but I was worried – am still worried. Your uncle's a good man."

James nodded, unsure how to react. After all, he had told Dean that he barely knew his uncle...

"Not that I am not thankful, but shouldn't you be at work?" he inquired.

Dean looked up. "Yeah, but I never take a holiday, so it shouldn't be a problem. Stir that for me for a second, okay?"

And so Dean went out to call his boss while James stirred the ingredients for French toast in a bowl.

He looked at his hands as he moved the spoon.

Strong hands. Young hands. Hands without veins or the specks of old age, hands that didn't shake. Hands that wouldn't look out of place, wrong, if they reached out for –

He shook his head. He should concentrate on the problem at hand, not his neighbour. What had happened? When he laid down on the couch, more or less expecting not to see the next day, he had been eighty-one years old, too weak to clean his driveway. Now, he looked about thirty and had just told Dean that he was his own nephew and that he was dying in a hospital.

How could it be? The answer was simple: it couldn't. This was impossible.

But he looked up and studied his reflection in the window, and there could be no doubt about it.

But how –

And then he remembered.

 _Let's play for years._

James had won fifty years last night because Patrick Langleben had folded. But this wasn't possible, surely. You couldn't win years. You couldn't just... rejuvenate because you won a poker game.

Yet the proof that he had was staring him right in the face.

Dean came back, grinning at him.

"Told my boss I had a family emergency. Close enough." He took the bowl out of his hand. "Thanks." After stirring for a few moments, he continued, "Sorry, I never asked your name."

"I'm – "

Before he could think of a normal name, he remembered.

 _What does the C stand for?_

"Castiel. My name is Castiel."

Dean looked at him, surprised. "Wow. That's... different."

"My family has always liked to give their children angel names."

Dean snorted. "You show me an angel called James."

"Uncle James is... somewhat an outsider."

It was surreal to talk about himself like this. And that he had just told Dean his middle name, the one his mother wanted to call him eighty-one years ago.

"I'd say. I didn't even know..." Dean stopped and shrugged. "But hey, I'm only the neighbour."

"More than that." James spoke without thinking, then quickly added, "It's clear you two are close."

Dean smiled. "I suppose that's true. Like I said, he's a good man. I've been helping him out a little."

More like working every single day to make sure he got out of the house alright, but James couldn't tell him that. He was supposed to know nothing about his uncle.

Dean winked and he could feel himself blushing. "Name's Dean Winchester, by the way."

"So what do you do?" he asked, realizing that he had to act like Dean was a stranger too.

"I'm a mechanic. Nothing important, but it pays the bills."

James had noticed Dean's habit of talking himself down repeatedly, and he had never liked it.

"I can't repair a car to save my life."

He should have expected the next question, but he hadn't.

"What can you do then? Or rather, what do you do?"

"I'm an interpreter" he answered automatically. Ever since his retirement as a teacher, this was how he had identified himself, and he cursed internally.

"Seems like the talent for languages runs in your family."

"I suppose it does."

"Your uncle and I were at the police station yesterday. He had to translate for some Russian kid." Dean paused and continued to prepare breakfast. His shoulders slumped. "If I had known he wasn't feeling well, I wouldn't have driven him. I would have insisted he stay at home. He really shouldn't have been running around in the middle of the night at his age."

"It wasn't your fault. My grandfather always assured me that my uncle could be very stubborn."

"Stubborn is not how I would describe him. A little dorky, maybe. Still – I shouldn't have let it happen."

James reached out and squeezed his shoulder. "It's not your fault, Dean."

He had underestimated how it would feel to touch Dean now, with young blood coursing through his veins.

It was addicting. He never wanted to let go again. He forced himself to let his hand drop. No matter what had happened, he was still an old man. Although he didn't look like it now. And he was lying to Dean.

But what choice did he have? He himself barely believed that he had won his youth back in a game of poker played at the insistence of a man with a strange German name. At best, Dean would laugh at him, at worst, declare him insane. And what then? If he should choose to call the police, it would soon become clear that James Novak wasn't in the hospital at all.

James could very well end up either arrested or on the run because he couldn't explain why he'd been in the house of a man who had disappeared.

He needed to relax. He couldn't freak out. He mustn't. If he did, he was bound to make mistakes. He forced himself to remember countless hours spent with screaming teenagers and took a deep breath.

Dean beamed at him. "Hope you like French toast."

"I do."

He couldn't remember the last time someone had prepared breakfast for him. It might have been Meg, thirty-five years ago, until she left, claiming he was "too pure and boring."

It hadn't surprised him that Dean was a good cook. After what he had heard between the lines, he had been forced to raise his younger brother; he must have learned how to feed him.

"How long will you be staying?" Dean asked.

James shrugged. Right now, he had no idea what he could do to rectify the situation. The most logical step seemed to get in touch with Patrick Langleben.

"I don't know. As long as it lasts, I suppose."

He had meant the – whatever had happened to him, but Dean obviously took it differently. He looked down at his plate and put his fork away.

"How long does he have?"

"The doctors are not sure" he managed to stammer out.

"Do they think he has a chance?"

"They are very cautious."

"I'm sorry." Dean's face was full of sympathy, and guilt made it difficult to speak.

"Me too. You seem to have spent a lot of time together."

"Not that much, really. Like I said, I was helping him out. It was better than sitting home alone."

James had never considered that Dean had actually spent every evening in his house for the past month. But a man like him surely had a lot of friends. On the other hand, he had never really mentioned anyone, apart from his brother.

They continued to eat in companionable silence, until Dean said, "You remind me of him, actually. Your uncle."

"Oh?" he asked stupidly. Of course. Dean wasn't dumb, and he hadn't really tried to act differently around Dean, apart from taking care of talking about himself in the third person.

"Yeah. You talk like him, and you're polite. Anyone else would have probably bitten my head off when someone came to their door in the morning and asked them what their business was."

"It's Uncle James' house, so it was hardly my business to be angry."

Dean chuckled. "Got his sense of humour, too."

James had never thought that he possessed any.

"If you say so..." he answered, unsure.

"Don't worry" Dean grinned. "I like it."

James blushed. This... certainly felt like flirting. He hadn't done it in years and he'd never been good at it, but it seemed like Dean was flirting with him.

And he couldn't deny that it felt good. Right, even. But he was lying to Dean, and anyway, once he had returned to his real age –

What if he didn't? He suddenly thought. Maybe this was permanent. Maybe this was permanent, and he needed to live his life again, and Dean was flirting with him so he might be interested, and perhaps –

No. This way lay madness. After all, if he had won fifty years –

The realization forced itself upon his mind, and he let his fork fall.

If he had won fifty years, Patrick Langleben had lost them.

He might very well have killed a man.

"Castiel? You alright?" Dean asked.

He smiled weakly. "Yes. It was delicious, but I am still exhausted."

"Better let you get some rest, then." Dean quickly cleaned up, then wrote down his number for James.

"Call me if you need anything, alright? Or if you hear..."

He promised to do so, and Dean left.

James let himself fall on the couch.

He had to find Patrick Langleben before their ill-advised game claimed his life.


	4. Chapter 4

It was the first time he had welcomed Dean leaving his house. But he felt like he couldn't breathe. He should have thought of the effects this would have on the loser of the game much sooner; after all, he hadn't felt well last night; maybe he was already...

James had to find him, and he had to do it fast.

Maybe he was still at the police station, although he couldn't imagine how the officers would react to someone waking up fifty years older.

The problem was that he couldn't very well go there without certain changes being noticed.

Calling it was, then. And thankfully he had had enough cases to make up a somewhat believable excuse.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he was put through to Officer Mills without having to explain himself.

"James Novak speaking."

"Mr. Novak, is everything alright?"

Belatedly he realized that the pitch of his thirty-year-old voice didn't sound like that he'd used when he had been eighty-one ( _stop it_ , he told himself firmly, _you_ are _eighty-one. You are not thirty. Don't start thinking like that_ ).

He cleared his throat and tried to make himself sound older. "Sorry, I seem to have contracted a cold."

"I'm sorry to hear that. How can I help you?"

"I was just wondering if Mr. Krushnic or any of his friends were still in need of an interpreter. A few of the things he said yesterday..."

"I think his friends were involved too, but we let them all go. The owner was ready to accept the payment, so... But it's nice of you to call."

She was obviously a little confused, but not suspicious. Thank God. And they knew each other well enough that a little small talk wouldn't seem out of place either.

"What about Mr. Langleben? Is he still in custody?"

Office Mills heaved a sigh. James' heart sank.

"His lawyer got him out an hour after you had left. There was nothing we could do. If he's smart, he's long left the town by now."

And probably slowly dying of old age in his hideout.

"I see. Well, I won't keep you from your duty any longer. Goodbye, Officer Mills."

"Goodbye, Mr. Novak."

They hung up. What was he supposed to do now? If Officer Mills was right...

But there was another possibility. Langleben had certainly seemed... cocky. The kind of suspect who would stay in the city just to annoy the police and bask in the knowledge that they didn't have any evidence against him.

But he couldn't very well ask Officer Mills for his address –

And if he told her the truth after all? If he insisted they do a DNA test?

No; not only would it take far too long, how should he convince them that he wasn't simply crazy? A resemblance to an old man who had vanished was not enough to make them believe him.

And even if they did, if he proved he was himself – then what? These days, with the internet, it was impossible to keep things a secret; and someone being rejuvenated was unheard of. He would be poked and prodded and followed around by reporters, and who knew what would happen to Langleben in the meantime.

No, he couldn't tell anyone.

For one brief second, he contemplated trying to convince Dean. It would be nice to have a friend to confide in. But he had already lied to him, and (as selfish as he was) he didn't want to lose him. He wanted Dean to come to his house and look at him like he had looked at him during breakfast, as if he was someone special –

It wasn't that different, he suddenly realized. Dean had always looked at him like that. But there was something new in his eyes, something that hadn't been directed at James in a very long time.

Like Dean was attracted to him. He had never wondered about Dean's sexuality before. Was he drawn to men? He had mentioned an ex-girlfriend one snowy evening, so perhaps he was bisexual like James.

It didn't matter, he reminded himself sternly. Even if Dean for whatever reason found him attractive, he couldn't –

Couldn't what? He shouldn't even be thinking about it. Whatever had happened to him had to be reversed; it had to. He couldn't take away Patrick Langleben's years. He had already lived his life. He wouldn't steal somebody else's.

Some part of him wished, of course. Wished he could just forget. Wished he could keep pretending, could perhaps flirt back when Dean flirted with him again, maybe lean in –

No. He shook his head. He couldn't daydream about things that would never come to pass. He had to find Patrick Langleben.

How did people find other people these days? The internet, he supposed. He had paid little attention to it before, apart from the few sites he needed for his work. By the time it had grown in importance, he had already been more or less retired as a teacher, and had considered himself too old to learn about new inventions.

What was this thing they always talked about on television? Social media? Yes, that was it. Facebook. Where everyone had an account for reasons James had never understood.

So maybe Patrick Langleben had one, too. It might have been a long shot, but James was growing rather impatient.

He had almost forgotten what it felt like, to be impatient.

He reached automatically for his reading glasses until he realized he wouldn't need them. His eyes were sharp as they had been until he had turned forty.

He typed in "Facebook" in Google and did his best to understand how it worked.

Thank God there was a search bar. But no Patrick Langleben turned up. Why was he the only American male who decided not to share pictures of his meals with the world? Of course he was a criminal, but hadn't there been someone who escaped from prison and put on pictures regardless?

James sighed. He was going to log out but instead, unconsciously, searched for Dean Winchester.

And there he was. With a very handsome profile picture as well.

He scolded himself even as he clicked on the profile and looked through his picture albums. He recognized Sam because Dean had shown him pictures on his phone once; and some of the others who had "tagged" Dean were familiar as well, through the stories he had told him. He knew that Benny was a sailor and Charlie a "computer wiz". He also knew they lived far away, and that Dean missed them.

And Dean was single. Not that James hadn't known before, or that it was in any way important.

He was being ridiculous. He closed Facebook and leaned back. Then, he got his phone book. Why not try an old, age-approved idea.

No Patrick Langeleben. And that might not even be his real name. Who would run an illegal casino under his real name?

What was he supposed to do? If Patrick Langleben didn't want to be found –

No. He couldn't do that. It was tempting to just take the years, very tempting indeed –

A knock on his door. To his surprise he saw that it was twelve already; he had needed more time to figure out Facebook than he had supposed, but he had never felt comfortable with computers. Yet James couldn't deny that he had suddenly found it easier to navigate the internet. Maybe it had something to do with his brain being younger.

He opened the door to find Dean with a takeout bag in his hand.

"Hey".

"Hello, Dean."

He gave him a sad smile. "That's how your uncle always greets me."

"Do – Does he?"

Dean nodded. "I figured you'd probably not feel up to cooking, so I brought burgers." Dean looked down. "Is there any news?"

James shook his head. He felt awful lying to his neighbour, but he would have to just... roll with it, as Dean would have said.

"That sucks."

James nodded, deciding it was better to simply agree with what Dean thought.

"Anyway" Dean said, brightening up. "Burgers."

"You really don't have to disrupt your work routine for me – "

"It's my lunch break. I can do what I want."

And Dean swept past him – it seemed to become a common theme in their conversation. By the time James made it into his kitchen, Dean was already setting the table.

"Trust me, you gotta try those burgers. They're from Denny's, down the street from where I work. Best I've ever tested – well, apart from my own."

James had so far only Dean's word that he made good burgers because his doctor had forbidden him certain foods; but, he suddenly realized, he could indulge himself now. Young body. He could eat whatever he wanted.

And the burger did taste heavenly. As the taste exploded in his mouth for the first time in ten years, he moaned. He opened his eyes to find Dean flushed scarlet.

"Enjoying yourself?" he asked, sounding somewhat flat, and James blushed as well when he realized.

Dean was indeed attracted to him.

"These... make me very happy" he answered, and Dean laughed.

"Glad to hear it." He winked. James told himself that he wouldn't react. So Dean was – flirting with him. That didn't have to mean anything. Dean probably flirted a lot. He certainly had the looks to do it.

That he also had a wonderful personality really didn't help James' problem, however.

"Hey" Dean said, "I know it's hard. And I'm really sorry, man. But don't look at your burger like that, it's gonna turn sour."

"It's – " he stopped and sighed. "It's not easy."

That was true, at least. It wasn't easy.

It was nice to eat burgers without risking acid reflux, though.

And Dean was smiling sympathetically at him now, his green eyes sparkling, and his treacherous heart beat faster again.

He hope he wasn't blushing once more, too. One of the perks of old age had been that he had been past the age when hormones raced through his vein and revealed what he was feeling; now, of course, that didn't mean a thing.

"Did you have to take time off work?" Dean asked suddenly. James shook his head.

"I'm a freelancer." He was surprised how good he was getting at lying. He was starting to grow comfortable with it too, and he didn't know if that was a good thing.

"Sounds cool. Better than punching a clock, anyway."

"So you don't like your job?"

"Oh no, I love working on cars. There's nothing more beautiful than a well-restored, pouring motor. Gotta show you my Baby soon."

It took James a second longer than it should have to realize that he wasn't supposed to know what Dean's baby was.

"Who?"

"My car. A 67 Impala."

"Much better than the '69 series" James said immediately, automatically, having heard it from Dean a hundred times before, only noticing his mistake when Dean's face lit up and he was struck speechless.

"Yeah, man, that's what I keep telling my boss, but he won't believe me! Guy's got no sense for good cars."

As if this deception wasn't enough; now he had Dean convinced that he knew about cars to, that he was someone interesting to talk to, someone worth his notice.

And, somehow, it was easy, dangerously easy, to forget the age difference between them as Dean continued to chatter about his job and James; it always had been; every time he had been with his neighbour, he had felt young again, but there had been the aches of old age to remind him that he shouldn't make mistakes; this time, his body was clearly as drawn to Dean as his mind and heart.

He had dreamed of how it would have been if he had been young with Dean, and now he was experiencing it. And he would never be able to keep it, keep Dean.

Of all the things he had experienced in his life, James had not been eager to relive heartbreak.


	5. Chapter 5

"And then the customer tried to scalp me because I told him we couldn't put these new aluminium jerk-rims on his car because they only come in one size because that's what douche companies do, but I had him on the floor in a second, and my boss couldn't even be angry 'cause he saw the whole thing and the guy clearly attacked me – "

"Maybe it might have something to do with you calling them "jerk rims"" James said, mostly to forget about Dean putting men on the floor, because he could feel heat travelling down his body at an alarming speed (good God, where this really how strongly hormones worked? If so, that was one thing he definitely wouldn't miss when he was back to normal).

"I didn't say that to his face" Dean laughed. "I was as polite as I come."

What an unfortunate choice of words. James' second spring had been nothing compared to this. Suddenly, he was desperate to get back to his own age. He needed the reminder, needed the years separating them. Before he did something that he would regret.

"What about you, Cas? Clients ever give you a hard time? Can't really imagine it. I'm sure they're all suckers for your baby blues."

Dean knew he shouldn't have flirted with the guy. His uncle, Dean's neighbour, who he actually liked a lot (so much that once or twice, he had guiltily imagined him much younger with him, because of... well, and he had actually looked oddly like Cas) was dying.

And Dean was rather sad, to be honest. It was real concern that had caused him to knock on his door and meet his nephew this morning. James Novak was a good man, had seen much, educated many. It was terrible to think of all those memories, all this knowledge, plus his quiet, sarcastic sense of humour and his kindness wasting away in a hospital bed, with no one there but nurses and doctors because it was too dangerous for him to have visitors.

So Dean should only have provided comfort. And he really wanted to. But Cas was... very attractive. And he had that same quiet, kind, funny way about him that had endeared James so much to Dean in the first place. They could have passed as father and son easily. Their voices even sounded similar, although Cas' had a somewhat deeper pitch.

Dean couldn't help flirting with him. And he had no idea if he was even into guys... No, that was a lie. No straight guy reacted like this, blushing and going quiet when another man flirted with him. Dean should know, after his big oh-shit-I-like-guys-too freak-out he'd had at twenty-two after meeting Benny.

Still, he shouldn't be flirting. The poor man was only here because a relative was in the hospital. Dean should keep his attraction to him in check.

But he liked what he saw. And the longer they talked, the more he found to like.

James wondered if his face would just acquire a constant scarlet colour, but before he could think about the implication of Dean's comment, he realized something else.

"Cas?"

Now it was Dean's turn to look away and stammer. "Sorry, I – tend to give people nicknames. Didn't mean to weird you out – "

"It's fine."

He had never had a nickname before, if he didn't count the annoying "Jimmy" Gabriel had never given up. His heart grew heavy as he thought of his brother. It had been over ten years since he had died, his diet finally catching up to him at seventy-three.

"No one's ever called me that before" he said, honestly.

Dean blinked. "Really? So can I use it?"

James nodded. He liked it, like Dean's mouth shaping the single syllable, how it sounded –

"Great. So. Any weird clients?"

"There were a few over the years. Once, I – "

He stopped when Dean chuckled.

"Sorry. But that could have come out of your uncle's mouth. How old are you, man?"

"Thirty-one" was the age he settled on, since he had won fifty years last night. He had to be more careful. He couldn't act like he did before. Dean was bound to notice.

"Just wondering. Continue."

"There was a hippie, apparently leftover from the Seventies."

It really had been in the Seventies, far enough into the decade that he hadn't been surprised much when it happened, but he quickly reworked the story.

"He hired me because he wanted to converse with a "Svengali master" from India he had met".

Dean suppressed a laugh. Quoty fingers, really? Cas was just too cute. Dangerously cute, if he was being honest.

"I walked in on him and said Svengali master with five other persons."

He stopped and Dean needed a moment to catch on.

"Wha – oh."

"Yes. It was rather – surprising. He then proceeded to invite me to join in."

Dean laughed. "And, did you?"

"No, I'm not really into orgies."

"Oh, aren't you?"

Dean said it lightly, but he could easily imagine why the guy had asked Cas to join. These eyes – and his hands (so Dean had a thing for guys with nice hands) and this way –

No. He was absolutely not going to fantasize about a guy while said guy's uncle was dying.

James had declined that day without feeling particularly disgusted or aroused. He had always needed intimacy as well as sex, an emotional connection.

He was sure Dean was gentle with his partners, cradling them in his hands as if they were the only important thing in the world –

He had to find Patrick Langleben, and fast.

"Then there was a nice old lady who wanted me to talk to her dog. She was convinced I was able to translate him, and I should teach him not to urinate on her carpet."

"So you stood there in front of a dog?"

"It was a Chihuahua too" he admitted.

Dean threw his head back as he laughed, his whole body vibrating with mirth. It was utterly captivating, and only when Dean stopped did James realize he had leaned forward. He immediately moved back.

"Man, Cas, I haven't laughed this hard in ages."

James had suspected that Dean was slightly... bored, dissatisfied with his life since he seemed to talk about his absent friends constantly and spent his evenings with an old man. Why Dean Winchester didn't have more friends, he would never know.

Scratch funny. Cas was downright hilarious. And Dean bet he had been really nice about it, too, calmly explaining to the lady why he couldn't translate for her dog, all patient and polite.

What he was feeling was coming dangerously close to a high school crush, and he had known him for about six hours.

Speaking of – Dean glanced at his watch. _Oh God._

"Sorry, Cas, I gotta be back at the garage in like – now, but wanna do dinner?"

He hadn't meant to ask him, although he really wanted to.

James should have said no. He knew that. But Dean was smiling at him, and it confused him terribly, and so he said, "I would like that."

"Great. My place, at seven? I live in the next house down the street."

"I'm looking forward to it" James replied, feeling as guilty as joyful. What was the purpose of these – _don't call them dates, they aren't_ – with Dean? Nothing would come of it. Nothing could come of it. If he allowed himself to slip, for even one second, into the Castiel Novak he'd always secretly wished he had been (and God knew he was already pretending; he might have joked around with Dean and told him stories as an old man, but when he really had been thirty-one he had been much too quiet to put himself forward like that) and did something he would later regret, it would only hurt Dean. Once he was back in his real body, he would think Castiel had just left without saying goodbye.

Then again, not everyone was like James. Maybe Dean only wanted a one night stand. If he did –

The temptation grew. One night with Dean in his arms, being held in return, one night being cherished by and cherishing the man he could easily have fallen in love with, if fate hadn't been so cruel.

No; he wouldn't even contemplate it. He had the whole afternoon to find Langleben. Maybe this would already be over by the time Dean came home. He felt unexpectedly sad at the thought and forced himself to consider it with certainty. Patrick Langleben certainly hadn't meant it when he had gambled away his years. He had a right to them.

James Novak had already lived his life. And no beautiful man gave him the right to take that of someone else. No matter how many times he had to repeat this to himself, he would until he understood.

He had no plan, no idea, but after changing his clothes and thanking God that he had stayed at about the same weight through most of his adult life, he resolutely left the house wearing the trench coat he had owned for longer than he could remember.

There must be some trace of Patrick Langleben to find.

"Dean? You have been staring at this wrench for a solid minute. Are you okay?"

Dean blushed and looked up to see Aaron, one of their most faithful customer with whom Dean had had a short fling two years ago. They had stayed friends.

"I – I'm fine."

"I can see that" Aaron said, smirking. "Who is it?"

"What?" he asked, his voice definitely not going up a pitch.

"I know that face. You met someone. Someone you _like_ " Aaron teased him.

"How – no – why do you even have that idea?"

He had really been thinking about Cas, actually dwelling on their date – no, not a date. Just dinner. With his neighbour's nephew.

His neighbour's incredible hot nephew, who was also nice and funny and smart –

"Wow. You're smitten."

"I'm not. Shut up."

"So, who is it?"

"His name is Cas. He's my neighbour's nephew."

"The neighbour you've been helping out? I knew you had ulterior motives."

"I only met him today. His uncle's in the hospital."

It dampened his enthusiasm to think of James. Poor guy. Maybe they would allow visits. He would like to see him one last time. His lonely evenings had certainly become a lot less boring and lonely since he had befriended the old man.

"Sorry to hear that."

Dean shrugged. "He's old, of course, but he's still his uncle."

Who he didn't seem very concerned about, if Dean thought about it, but then they had never really met. It couldn't be easy to get a call and do the right thing and end up in a house he had never seen before, trying to be there for an uncle he had never met and said uncle unable to even have visitors.

"At least he has you to look after him."

Aaron wasn't teasing him now; he knew Dean would make his meals and mother him. He always did when someone needed help.

"Yeah..."

Dean's thoughts trailed off to blue eyes and the small crinkles that appeared around them when Cas smiled.

Whoever this guy way, he had Dean wrapped around his little finger. Aaron hoped it would be good for him. He knew Dean felt lonely since Sam had gone to college. And none of his relationships ever seemed to work out.

"I invited him to dinner tonight" Dean admitted. "He needs to eat" he added quickly.

"I am sure he does." Aaron took pity on him and said, "My motor's been leaking oil again."

Dean sighed. "Alright then, let's take a look."

He would have advertised Aaron to get rid of the old Buick ages ago, if he hadn't known that this was the car his grandfather had taught him to drive in, and he clung to it out of sentimentality.

He got lost in the motor. Cars, at least, were easy.


	6. Chapter 6

If only he'd asked for the name of Patrick Langleben's lawyer, James thought. It would have been much easier to track him down, then. Especially since he knew quite a few lawyers from his work around police stations and court houses.

He sat in front of the police station, unaware of the cold. What was he supposed to do? Every minute that passed by was another minute taken of Patrick Langleben's life.

He stood up. It was an awfully long shot, but at least it was doing something; and he pulled out his phone again, this time to call the lawyer he knew best.

Rachel McIntosh was one of the best defenders in the state; she was also close to fifty and had always jokingly flirted with James, stating "I always knew my perfect man was either way too old for me or not born yet".

Remembering Officer Mills, he did his best to imitate his own voice. It was a weird thought.

"James Novak! How can I help you on this fine day? Is there someone in need of my wonderful talents?"

He had called her in on cases several times, when criminals had been too young or too poor to pay for an attorney. Rachel was more than ready to take on pro bono defendants, a passion others of her profession noticeably lacked.

"Not this time. I'm more... curious."

It was not what he would usually have done, and she would perhaps wonder why he was interested, but one of the positive sides of old age had been (was, he meant was) that one got away with things that would have made people suspicious if someone younger had tried.

"Oh?"

A neutral sound.

"Yes. I met someone in the police station yesterday... A Patrick Langleben."

She snorted.

"No wonder you're curious."

"You know him?" he asked, and to his own surprise, it wasn't joy or hope that filled him. It was dread.

Before he could try and analyze his reaction, Rachel spoke up.

"Every attorney in town knows him. I'm willing to bet every attorney in the state knows him. He's clearly doing illegal stuff just for the fun of it, and he seems to think getting arrested then walking out of the station with his head held high is an acceptable hobby. He never harms anyone though, or at least he only annoys douche bags by taking their money."

For Rachel to use the word, his victims really must be douche bags.

"What was he in for?"

"Running an illegal casino."

"Sounds like him."

"Does he live in town?" he inquired, strangely reluctant.

"That's just the thing; he's taken on and paid countless attorneys, and not a single one of them even knows his address. When I ask, they say it just never occurred to them that they need to know. It's the weirdest thing."

"I see..." James answered, his heart sinking. "Thank you, Rachel. This has been very interesting."

"No problem, James. Always glad to hear from you."

They hung up. Patrick Langleben didn't want to be found. But that didn't mean that James could give up the search. He had to find him.

It was strange that no lawyer insisted on knowing where his client lived. It was strange that he seemed determined to break the law just to anger people.

It was just... strange.

James sighed. What was he supposed to do? All he knew was that he couldn't give up.

It had been a while since Dean had clocked off work so eagerly. True, coming home had got better and better since he had become friends with James Novak, but today he expected Cas for dinner and –

And nothing. He was just helping him out. He certainly didn't want to cook with his uncle in hospital. What did he even do the whole day when he wasn't allowed to visit? Dean really wished he had his phone number, just to check in –

Wow. Aaron was right. He was far too gone on the guy. He'd only met him today.

But making him burgers couldn't hurt. Yeah, they had had some for lunch, but he had to try the patented Dean Winchester version.

His phone rang and he smiled when he saw Sammy's ID.

"Hey, Sammy."

Before he had gone to college, his brother had objected to the nickname, but he didn't mind it now.

"Hi Dean. Just wanted to check in."

"How's the corporation treating you? Need me to kick their asses?"

Sam laughed. "No, everyone's been very nice. How about you?"

"I just realized it hasn't snowed all day. I'm perfect."

Much as he had enjoyed helping James Novak, he really didn't need to shovel every day, thank you very much. So when he left the garage and saw that it hadn't snowed in the afternoon either, he was relieved.

It also gave him more time to prepare the burgers just right.

"Are you still going over to your neighbours?"

Sam had been much too happy when he had heard about the friendship they had struck up. Dean wondered if his little brother had suspected that he'd felt a bit sad before the ex-teacher had come into his life.

"No. He's in the hospital" he answered, his heart sinking. He really wanted him to be alright. And to have a relationship with his nephew. Maybe Cas could stay over now and then, and Dean could invite them both to dinner –

No ulterior motives, of course.

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."

"They don't even allow visitors, how fucked up is that? I get that he's very weak, but if he – He shouldn't die alone."

Not like Dad, who drank himself to death after pushing everyone away. It was Dean who had found him that day, eight years ago.

"His nephew is here, and he's not allowed to see him, either."

"His nephew?"

There was a hint of something in Sam's voice. His brother knew him too well.

"Yeah, poor guy."

"And how old does this nephew happen to be?"

"Thirty-one. What does this have to do with anything?" Dean asked innocently.

"Good looking?"

"Why? You and Sarah break up?"

"Dean..."

"Cas is a nice man in a difficult situation. That is all" he said firmly.

"Oh, he's _nice_. Cas?"

"Cut it out. He's named after an angel. Castiel."

"Angel of Thursdays, solitude and tears" the nerd mused. "Strange name to give a kid."

"Religious family" Dean said, not understanding why he felt the need to defend Cas. "Anyway" he added quickly, to get it over with because he already knew Sam would be insufferable, "I invited him to dinner."

"Did you now."

"Cooking is the last thing on his mind right now, I'm sure, and someone's gotta keep him fed."

"And that he's _nice_ has nothing to do with it."

"Nope. Just being my usual altruistic self."

A pause. Then Sam said, strangely serious, "You really can admit it if you like him, Dean."

"I've known him for a day. Calm down."

"I just meant – it's okay. To want someone. I know you haven't exactly the best track record – "

"Thanks for reminding me" he remarked drily.

"But you just need to find the right person, and if Cas is nice – "

"It's dinner. 'Cause his uncle is in the hospital."

"I'm just saying keep your options open."

The problems was that the option was open, a big freaking door Dean just wanted to dash through, but how could he under the circumstances? Cas seemed to like him, sure, and maybe, if that had been someone else, Dean actually would have gone for comfort sex –

But he didn't want a one night stand. As crazy as it was, after a few hours he wanted more. To get to know Cas better. To hear him laugh again. To watch his eyes sparkle –

Just dinner, he reminded himself. He could get through one evening keeping his hands to himself.

Unable to come up with a better plan, James had strolled through town, looked at every address and phone book he could find, went into an internet café to check again, and finally decided to slowly walk home, defeated.

He arrived at seven o' clock and decided he might just go up to Dean's immediately.

He hadn't realized he had had nothing but his trench coat to protect him from the cold all day until the door opened and Dean smiled at him, only to have his expression turn into shock.

"Cas? What the hell? You look like death warmed over – actually, no. Scratch that. Nothing about you looks warm."

He took James' hands in his. Only now he realized he really was cold, and he started to shiver.

"God. You feel like an icicle. Come on."

He felt slightly dizzy, and allowed Dean to drag him into the house, the hand in his a warm anchor.

He had never been in Dean's house before, but it was exactly the organized, comfortable semi-chaos he had expected. It fit him.

Dean had a fireplace too.

Dean thanked God that he had already lit the fire up tonight, wanting the house to be warm and inviting for Cas because he had had to lie in a strange bed yesterday and would have to again for who knew how many nights to come.

He was shivering, clearly disorientated. He might even suffer from hypothermia. Just great.

"Cas?" he asked, urging him to sit down on a cushion in front of the fire. "What were you doing?"

 _Keep him talking. He can't go to sleep like this._

"I was... walking through town" James mumbled, his eyelids growing heavy. Dean's comforting presence and the warmth of the fire made him sleepy. He'd like to take a nap –

"Cas, stay with me. What were you walking through town for?"

He forced his eyes opened and remembered that he had to lie just in time. "I didn't know what else to do... they won't let me in to see Uncle James – "

Dean had somehow rid him of his trench coat and was rubbing up and down his back now, gently massaging his tense muscles as he did. "I'm sorry, man. Look, Cas, you really need something warm to drink. Promise me to stay awake while I make tea?"

"Promise" he said, even though he didn't want Dean to leave.

Dean got up and James instantly missed his warmth. He managed to stand up and walked up and down in front of the fire so he wouldn't fall asleep, his addled brain beginning to catch up. He had been out in the cold too long, and he was really feeling it now. Thank God he had gone up to Dean and not fallen asleep in his house. It wasn't his life to throw away.

"You're up. Good." Dean pushed a hot cup in his hand and wrapped him in a warm blanket.

He rubbed up and down his arms.

"I know this is a difficult time for you, but you can't do stuff like that."

"I know" he said as his mind cleared. He sipped his tea and tried to ignore how close Dean was. He knew of course that he was just sharing body heat, but...

"Thank you" he said honestly. He had stopped shivering.

"No problem. Just don't do it again."

Dean stepped away and he missed him. How could he miss someone who was only a few metres away?

"We're eating in front of the fire place. Get you all warm and cosy."

He'd been cosy before Dean pulled away, but he didn't say it.

He told himself, when Dean came back, that he just huddled close to him because he wanted to remain warm.

Dean hadn't been lying. The burger today had been good, but this was nothing short of orgasmic.

Dean had thought the moan at lunch had been bad, but this –

He looked away, flushing. Still, it was nice to sit here and eat with Cas – watch the fire cast shadows over his face –

After they had eaten, they sat in comfortable silence. And if Cas eventually feel asleep, he sure wasn't going to wake him. Guy had enough to deal with right now.


	7. Chapter 7

When James woke up, he felt warm. But it was not the warmth of a cosy bed, or even the one of the slowly dying fire he was experiencing; no, this was a warmth he had felt now and then, long ago, when he had been years from lonely evenings that would be chased away by the most beautiful man he had ever met.

He was lying in Dean Winchester's arms in front of the fireplace. Somehow, he had ended up as the little spoon, with Dean holding unto him. For a moment, still half-asleep, he snuggled closer. How long had it been? he mused. Twenty years? Twenty-five? Longer? And he couldn't remember ever feeling as comfortable as this.

Then he realized and stiffened. He was _cuddling with Dean_. He couldn't. He shouldn't. If this went on, he could hurt Dean, and that was the last thing he wanted.

That was if Dean would ever be interested in him, truly interested in him, and why should he be –

He needed to move.

But as soon as he tried, Dean emitted a sound of protest and pulled him back.

 _He's asleep. He doesn't mean it._

When he tried to get up again, Dean woke up.

"Wha – Cas?"

He jumped up, his face burning again. He certainly hadn't blushed that much the first time being thirty? Did Dean simply have that effect on him?

"I'm sorry" he mumbled. "I was tired and... I shouldn't have walked around in the cold all day..."

"Hey, Cas, calm down. I'm just happy you are alright. You really came in just in time."

Dean had stood up as well. He was standing very close to James.

"And aside from the whole you almost freezing to death thing, last night was fun."

"Really?" he asked, frowning. Most people wouldn't look fondly back on having to warm him up and then eat in silence, but Dean looked happy enough, still a little drowsy, his hair in disarray...

James' eyes landed on his lips as he unconsciously licked his own. When his eyes met Dean's again, he could see the desire in them; his neighbour leaned forward –

There was only one thing to do.

James dashed away, almost throwing Dean to the ground in the process, calling out "Thank you very much, Dean. I have to go", grabbed his trench coat and ran to his house.

He only took time to breathe and think when he was sitting on his couch.

What had he just done?

Worse, what had he wanted to do?

Dean blinked slowly after Cas had left. So that happened.

 _What did you expect? He needs sympathy, not a come-on by a stupid mechanic._

He brought his hand up to rub his face, sighing. He should have known. Things – never worked out with people he was interested in. Although he thought this was a new record, even for him.

Cas had just looked so... innocent, so lost, and Dean had wanted to make him feel better, to make him see he was treasured –

What had possessed him, really? Cas might have blushed, but had he ever given him any real indication that he was interested? He hadn't. Dean had no right to try anything.

He sighed. It was time to go to work anyway.

He needed to find Patrick Langleben, and fast.

Not only because of the other man's short life span, but because –

He still wanted to go back, could feel the temptation calling out to him, that Dean wanted him. Dean would have kissed him if he had allowed it.

And for a second, he almost had given in, almost reached out, almost touched Dean. But he couldn't. He couldn't lie to him like that. Dean would be thinking that he was kissing, touching a young man, not an old man with a tired soul who had accidentally stolen someone else's life.

But Dean doesn't have to know, something in him argued. He turned away from that thought in disgust. Dean deserved better, deserved so much more than him.

Dean was angry at himself as he drove to work. Not only had he almost kissed Cas, but what he had done last night...

He wished he could believe that he had only tried to warm him up as quickly as possible, but he had relished every touch. And when Cas had fallen asleep, had he woken him up and led him to the guest room? No, when Cas' head had fallen on his shoulder, he'd drawn him closer under the pretence of sharing body heat.

Now, it was clear that Cas wouldn't have wanted any of that and Dean felt like a monster. He would apologize later, if Cas wanted to see him, and then they would never speak to each other again.

He didn't know why that thought hurt so much. He wasn't someone who fell (alright, wrong word, totally wrong word, because that wasn't what was happening or had been happening at all) easily for someone else, and they had known each other for a day. There had just been this connection... But apparently Dean had imagined that anyway.

He came to a flashlight and let his head fall on the wheel after he'd stopped the car.

"You really need to get laid" he mumbled. "That's all there is."

He didn't believe himself.

James had been pacing up and down his living room, trying to come up with a plan, but he kept getting distracted. Why had he ever bought this couch? Sure, it was comfy, but also ugly and bulky, and it didn't match with the book cases at all –

He realized what he was thinking. As he had grown older, he had paid less and less attention to how his furniture looked, preferring comfortable chairs and couches.

This was how he had been in his youth, in his first apartment, when he wanted not only to be comfortable but stylish too. He was starting to think like his younger self.

He probably shouldn't have been too concerned, considering he was younger than he should be, but maybe under the impression of the catastrophic end of his not-date with Dean, he couldn't help but think this a bad omen. He knew nothing of how he had turned younger, knew nothing of how he and Patrick Langleben had exchanged their ages. Would he forget that he had ever been old? Was this the first sign?

He forced himself to calm down. Maybe this was the right direction, however; instead of trying to find Patrick Langleben, perhaps he should look for something that could make someone younger.

As impossible as it sounded, he had to consider one thing.

Magic.

He had been interested in folklore and legends his whole life, and of course he had stumbled over a few stories of people who had been turned younger or older; but he didn't think he'd ever heard one where it had to do with a card game.

Still, it was a start.

The library it was, then.

At least it would take his mind off Dean.

Dean probably used more violence to get a stubborn bolt out than was strictly necessary, but it felt good. At least his colleagues had guessed that he was not having a good day and kept mostly out of his way.

He was thankful that Sam hadn't called yet, demanding how the date that had not been a date but rather a very bad move on Dean's part had gone. He really didn't want to tell his brother how low he had sunk because he had found a guy hot.

And Cas hadn't just rejected him; he had run out of the house more or less screaming. That was bad, even for Dean. He didn't think any attempt at flirting of his had ever crushed and burned like that.

And why was he so caught up on it anyway? He'd known the guy for a day, and he had read the situation wrong, so what? He would apologize and that would be it.

Guilty, he realized he hadn't thought about Cas' uncle all day. _You know, your actually neighbour who's dying? Who was nice enough to put up with you for months because you felt lonely?_

Hopefully James would pull through. Not for Cas, not for Dean, but he deserved a little more time.

He remembered their evenings together, the old man telling him about his travels, somehow looking younger when he smiled, his eyes lighting up...

Cas really did remind him of James. A lot. And that wasn't a bad thing, not at all, because Dean really liked his neighbour.

Not... like that. Of course. He didn't want to bang his grandfather, thank you very much. But enough that he'd often wished in passing that the guy was younger, maybe his age...

And then Cas had shown up and damn it, if he hadn't got close to what Dean had always imagined James must have been like when he was younger. Not that he had imagined that. Alright, maybe from time to time – he'd just kind of built him up as this perfect guy because a perfect partner for Dean Winchester could only exist in a different time or universe and then suddenly Cas had been there.

Yeah, he really would apologize. And then he would get Castiel Novak out of his head.

Somehow, the thought of telling Dean the truth became more and more tempting as James made his way to the city, once more wishing for the old Lincoln he had driven for decades until he'd decided he wasn't safe to drive anymore.

He wished this had nothing to do with James wanting him to think well of him, but he knew himself better.

Still, Dean was used to this world of electronics and easy communication; he probably knew how to find someone –

But how could he tell him the truth after he had lied to him? After Dean had almost kissed him? Dean would never talk to him again. And he shouldn't. Even when he had been old, he had known that he held Dean back. He should have friends his age, a partner, someone who could live with him instead of waiting for his end.

Not that this would be a problem anymore. Dean believed his nephew had rejected him. He wouldn't want to visit after this.

James sighed, missing his trench coat. He had gone for a warm coat instead, remembering last night, but it had become a comfort for him over the years.

Still, he needed to get to the library. He might not find anything, but it was his best shot at finding something about magic, about lore. He could have used Google, but there were so many sites and he had no clue how to specify what he needed, so he would definitely prefer books.

He felt a little silly asking for books about magic and lore, but the young woman was happy to help him and soon he was surrounded by books explaining card tricks and other things.

There were a few books that took their subject matter seriously, thank God, but even then, James had no idea what to look for. And even if he found something, he doubted there was a chapter entitled "How to successfully break curses you had no idea were cast at the moment."

Still, he checked a few books out at the end of the day.

What he didn't expect was to see Dean waiting for him at his front door.

Dean was determined to apologize to Cas as soon as he got home, and to wait if he had to. He couldn't let that – misunderstanding linger. He had to say sorry, at least.

Cas wasn't home, so he stood outside the house for five minutes until he saw him walk up, a bag in his hands.

He took a deep breath, and as soon as he was near enough, he began, "I know you probably don't want to see me, but we need to talk."


	8. Chapter 8

James let Dean in, his heart pounding in his chest. So Dean still wanted to salvage their – friendship? Did Dean think of Cas as a friend? Had he even seen James as that, before?

The mechanic came to stand in his living room, staring at the couch, shuffling his feet.

"I'm sorry, man" he finally began. "I – just – your uncle is in the hospital and you really don't need anyone to hit on you right now, I get that, and I really shouldn't have tried to kiss you, but I was still half-asleep and you're really hot so – "

James ignored the heat that suddenly flared up in his stomach – tried to, at least – and interrupted him with, "No, Dean I understand. Like you said, we were both half asleep. Otherwise, I wouldn't have bolted when an attractive man tried to kiss. Let's just forget about it."

He couldn't understand why Dean's eyes lit up until he realized what he had said. He had meant to convey that he wasn't attracted to Dean. So much for that plan. But his neighbour didn't bring it up again, thankfully, and he didn't try to kiss him again.

"Friends, then?" he asked, although there was hope in his eyes, and James hated himself for putting it there.

"Friends" he replied and was surprised when Dean pulled him in a hug.

When he stepped away, he commented, "At least you put on a warmer jacket. Wasn't really into helping another walking icicle." He frowned. "What are you doing anyway? I mean, I get going to the hospital, but you were out much too long for that last night, and you apparently went out again today, so..."

James bit his lip and tried coming up with an explanation. He couldn't really tell him that he was looking for –

On the other hand, why not? He didn't have to tell him the real reason.

"I went to the library. I'm working on a translation and I needed some references..." he trailed off. He might as well tell him more.

"I'm looking for someone."

Dean nodded, waited for him to continue.

"His name is Patrick Langleben. I've tried googling him" he still felt strange using words that he wouldn't have allowed to leave his mouth when he was his real age, but added "and phone books. He's supposed to live here, but I have no idea how to find him."

"I know it's none of my business, but why do you need to find this guy so bad?" Dean asked, and James detected a hint of jealousy in his voice.

Dean was pissed at himself that he was pissed at Cas for running after a guy who obviously wouldn't even give him a phone number while he was – while his uncle was dying.

"He..." James had to think quickly.

"He runs an illegal casino. A friend of mine owes him money, and it could end badly."

Only when something like disappointment and worry crossed Dean's face did he realize how that sounded.

"A friend of yours owes him money."

Dean was obviously trying to sound neutral.

"Yes" he confirmed.

"How much?"

He was worried and James felt even guiltier as he answered, "Enough, but I can pay him back."

"For your friend?"

"Yes" he confirmed, not bothering to correct Dean's deductions. If he thought he had gaming debts, he wouldn't be that attracted to him anymore – and that was what James wanted. Absolutely.

"And this friend – does he play poker often? Or crabs? Or whatever the Hell he lost the money at?"

"It was a one-time thing, terribly misguided, of course, and he hasn't touched a pack of cards since." When he saw Dean's doubtful expression, he added, "Really."

The young man relaxed and smiled at him, albeit weakly.

"Thank God for that. It's a nasty habit."

"It is" he agreed.

"So. You need to find this..."

"Patrick Langleben."

"Or there will be consequences?"

"Most likely" he answered, imagining the young man he had met in a prison cell aging and dying, shuddering involuntarily.

"Hey" Dean clasped his shoulder. "Don't worry man, we'll fix this."

"We?"

He nodded. "My father, he was... I know a thing or two about looking for someone."

Dean had never spoken about his parents – except for mentioning his mother's untimely death once – and James longed to ask. But he had no right. He was lying to Dean and he wouldn't use the lie to wriggle out information about a sensitive subject.

"Thank you, Dean. I cannot tell how much I appreciate your help" he said.

Dean looked at him and shook his head.

"Sometimes you sound so much like your uncle it's creepy."

"We are related" he shot back weakly.

"No denying that" Dean said. "Is there any news, by the way?"

He shook his head.

"I would tell you."

"Thanks, Cas, I appreciate it."

"No, I'm the one who should be thanking you. It's clear you've done a lot for him..." he began, desperate to finally thank Dean. He had tried to often enough in the past, and the younger man had always declined to hear him.

As he did now.

"It's really no problem. I like your uncle. He's a good man. And he really couldn't shovel all the snow we have been having... You're lucky. It hasn't snowed since you've shown up."

James nodded, feeling that Dean would never accept gratitude, no matter where it came from.

"So... Patrick Langleben" Dean said, all business. "Any idea where we could look for him?"

James sighed.

"He was arrested two days ago, after that he disappeared. I tried everything, Google, phone books..."

"But if he's gone, why even try to find him?"

"He has the habit of showing up unexpectedly. I don't want to risk spending the money and then having him stand in front of me suddenly. I settle my debts."

Dean nodded. "It's safer, I suppose."

"But you really don't have to..."

"Like I said, I got experience. And I won't let you alone, not with all the stuff that's already going on right now."

Before James could try to thank him again, Dean had sprinted out of the door. He assumed he would soon be back and sat down on the couch, burying his face in his hands. What had he just done? He was supposed to keep away from Dean, not ask him for help. And now he thought he had gambling debts...

That could be a good thing, at least. Dean must think him far less desirable now if he believed he had made deals with a criminal.

The prospect didn't cheer him up.

"So, I – Cas, cheer up".

He hadn't heard Dean come back. His neighbour patted his shoulder.

"We're gonna do this, alright? Like I said, I know a thing or two. Don't worry. And if push comes to shove, I can always call Charlie."

James remembered everything Dean had told him about Charlie, but of course he asked, "Who?"

"Friend of mine. Really tech-savvy. She can find anyone she wants."

It was tempting to suggest asking for her help right now, but the less people knew, the better. Patrick Langleben had after all been in prison when they met, and if he realized someone was searching for him, he could disappear completely.

If James had another motive – spending some more time with Dean – he didn't acknowledge it. Least of all to himself.

"But I guess you want to keep this quiet for now, so you'll have to do with me."

"I'm sure you'll do very nicely" he said before he could stop himself, and Dean grinned at him as he connected his laptop to the wifi.

"Man, your uncle has an amazing internet connection."

"It came with the telephone package" James answered before he realized that he wasn't supposed to know, and added, "I was bored and snooped through the drawers. Found the contracts."

"You spy, you. Still, can't blame you. It's tough trying to make a sense of new surroundings while under stress".

 _It's tough not to kiss you_ was James' first, completely spontaneous and juvenile ( _it's getting worse, oh God, it's getting worse_ ) reaction, but thankfully he managed not to blurt it out. Then he remembered what Dean had said.

Dean said it as if he was all too used to the sensation. James wondered why. Dean hadn't talked about his childhood often, as far as he recalled, and only in connection to his brother.

"It's not easy" he admitted, wondering how someone could be so understanding of the pain of others when the few times he'd noticed Dean was troubled or sad the young man had waved away his concern with a simple "I'm fine."

"You're here all alone, too. No relative ready to drop everything and help you out?"

James shook his head. "Like I said, Uncle James was always rather an outsider. I knew I had an eccentric uncle around these parts, but other than that..."

"If James is eccentric, your family must be the most boring people I've never met" Dean said before cringing. "Sorry."

James smiled. "It's alright. We really are all rather normal."

"I wouldn't say that."

Dean looked up from the laptop and their eyes met. There was so much sincerity in his neighbour's face, and the knowledge that he was lying to him and using him should have made James look away, but it didn't. Instead, they kept staring at one another and a part of him wanted to cross the short distance between them and do what Dean had wanted to do this morning.

Dean licked his lip unconsciously, and James was surprised at the intensity of the heat travelling down his body. He broke the eye contact before he did something he would later regret.

"What do you know about this Langleben? And what kind of name is that anyway?"

"Roughly translated, it means "live long" in German" James answered automatically and Dean mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "language nerd" before continuing, "And? Any idea where he likes to park?"

James didn't know what to answer. He hadn't learned where Langleben's illegal casino had been located (not that it mattered – he couldn't believe that even he had so much confidence that he stayed there after he'd been arrested). Only now, he realized how suspicious it all sounded.

True, he had never had much experience in lying. But the honesty he had been so proud of all his life was of little use to him now.

Dean was intelligent, highly so. He must know that there were holes in his story. Yet he hadn't asked. It worried him that he was ready to just act because James had asked him to, and that he obviously cared so little for his own safety that he was perfectly willing to chase after a criminal for a man he hardly knew.

Dean Winchester was too good a man for the world he lived in.

"Dean, you really don't have to do this".

His neighbour snorted. "Right. I'm just gonna let you do this yourself. The scrawny translator against the evil con artist. I don't see this playing out so well."

"I'm not scrawny. You're just a giant" James defended himself. Even at eighty-one, he'd still been rather tall; and in his thirties he hadn't yet had lost any height, of course.

"I know you're not – giant? I'll let you know that my little brother is taller than me."

"It's official. You're weird genetic mutations, then."

"You're weird genetic mutations" Dean murmured as he concentrated on his laptop again, deciding the discussion was over.

James smiled against his will.

"So how would one find someone who doesn't want to be found?"

"Well, for one, everyone leaves traces. Today that's just inevitable. You can't walk down the street without being filmed, and you need money to survive. So we look for the money. At the very least, your friend lost a few games against him, so they spend some time together. Did he tell you anything? He seem like the guy who likes expensive stuff?"

"Definitely" James answered, relieved that he could answer one question, at least.

"It's a start" Dean said simply.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean steadfastly kept up the lie of believing that it was James' friend who needed to pay off Langleben, obviously trying not to make James uncomfortable. He felt guiltier by the second, but couldn't think of a way to make it better.

Worse, the revelation that he was after a gambler apparently hadn't changed Dean's attraction to him in the slightest if the glances and smiles were anything to go by, and he was horrified that he felt relieved. What good would it do? It could only complicate matters, because as long as it seemed that Dean was ready to kiss him, he would be tempted to do so.

Therefore, he tried his best to be disagreeable and morose, which really, with the story he had told, should not have been too difficult, but one smirk or worried glance from Dean and all his pretence shattered.

"He probably uses another name by now. These types usually do."

James nodded.

Dean threw him a glance.

"You're not going to ask?"

Of course he was curious how Dean knew, why he was so certain that Langleben was to be found against all odds.

"It's not my place" he replied honestly. He had no right to ask anything from Dean while he was lying to him about everything.

Dean smiled sadly. "It's not that long a story. My brother and me... our upbringing was... unusual. Mum died in a fire when I was four."

He really should have stopped him. How often had he longed to ask about Dean's family when he had still had the right to call himself his friend, at least? But then, he had held back out of respect. Dean always looked sad, uncomfortable when they touched upon the subject.

"I'm sorry" he said instead. He truly was. Dean had brought him a pie a month ago, explaining that it was made "after his mum's recipe", although he hadn't added anything then. It had been delicious.

"Yeah, it sucked. We lost our Mum, our home – Sammy was only six months old. And Dad, he... he put us in his car and drove off. We drifted for years. It wasn't easy; he'd leave us in motel rooms and go off to find work. I had to look after Sam. And sometimes when money was short..." He paused. "I know enough about gamblers. Let's leave it at that."

He looked at James. "I never told anyone that. Why am I telling you?"

James swallowed. He had an idea, a suspicion that Dean's subconscious in some way recognized the man he trusted in his young version. But he couldn't very well tell him.

"I promise I won't talk of this to anyone else. I'm honoured at your trust."

Dean chuckled. "There we go with the professor speech again. Anyway, seems like best approach would be to see if some of the local gamblers know him."

"Are there many of those?" James asked, somewhat sceptical.

Dean chuckled again, but with far less mirth.

"Every town, every city has its losers. And they all end up finding another. Maybe they don't want to be alone. I don't know. But point is, all those who don't fit anywhere – they cut out a place for themselves, right in the middle of everyone else. Trust me, I spent years frequenting these... establishments."

James looked away. He had assumed Dean's childhood hadn't been ideal. He had never thought that it had been so... difficult.

He wanted to ask about his father, but he was probably dead, judging by how Dean talked about him.

"So these places..."

"I'm assuming you met him in your hometown?"

"How did you know that?" he asked as means of agreeing with Dean so his story would seem more plausible.

"These people, they might find certain places, but most don't have a home. They drift around."

"So he might well be in another town by now" James sighed.

"Doubt it. After all, you owe him money. He'll certainly want to get it."

That was true, even though what Langeleben wanted was not money. But by now he must be desperate to get his years back before the inevitable happened. Just how much longer had James had when he had been made young again? He had been in good shape for an eighty-one year old, he was reasonably certain of that, but still – maybe Langleben's heart was weaker, maybe he was never supposed to get old, maybe he was already –

For a second, just for a second, he wished he was too late. In the next moment he hated himself for it.

How could he possibly live this life ( _with Dean_ , his treacherous mind immediately supplied) without feeling every second that he had taken it from someone else? It didn't matter that he hadn't know. What mattered was Patrick Langleben and the life he was supposed to live. So what if he was a criminal? That still didn't give James a right to take it all away.

He nodded. "He would".

"So then, he's most likely still in town. Hiding from the police, or someone else. Who knows. But point is, he is here. And that means he can be found."

Dean was just so optimistic despite what James had told him. And he'd immediately offered his help. He really was too good a man for this world.

"Dean, you really don't have to do this. I can find him on my own. There's no need – "

"Hey, you got enough stuff to think about. Plus, it's not like I don't got any time on my hands." Dean looked down at his lap, suddenly self-conscious. "My brother lives a long distance away, same with most of my friends, and... well..."

He paused and James realized he was trying to spare his feelings. He would have laughed if he had found it the least bit amusing.

"I'm sure you were a great help to Uncle James" he said softly. "It was very kind of you to shovel his driveway."

"Like I said, no big deal. You don't have to keep thanking me for it. Not your fault your family isn't close."

Of course Dean would think he felt guilty. Well, he did, if for entirely different reasons then he thought. James tried not to let it show on his face.

"It has always been... complicated."

"Hey, you just heard how I grew up. What about that screamed "uncomplicated?"

James chuckled. "I guess we're both "screwed up"".

Dean laughed. "Again with the air quotes, dude? Really?"

James flushed. "It did seem appropriate at the time" he argued. It had been quite some time since he had been young enough to talk to young people as one of their own. Dean already thought he spoke like his "uncle". He couldn't risk making him suspicious.

"Don't worry. It's kinda cute".

In an ongoing theme of this new youth of his, he only flushed deeper and at the same time wanted to move closer.

He needed to get this under control, and fast. If only he could have seen Dean as a friend, and nothing more. But something about this bright soul had just drawn him in from the second he had first introduced himself.

Once he was back to his real age, he would forget about these... desires, he hoped. After all, he hadn't been stupid enough to actually want Dean like this then. So he wouldn't anymore.

He told himself firmly that he wouldn't miss this when Dean smiled and punched his shoulder.

"Come on. We got a gambler to find. Gotta make a call first, though."

"What call?"

But Dean had already pulled out his phone and dialled.

"Hey, Benny" he started, relieved when his friend picked up. "How's it going?"

Benny snorted. "I know that tone, brother. You ain't calling for a chat."

He chuckled. "Can't fool you, can I. Yes, Benny, it's –" he looked at Cas. "Complicated. But basically I need someone I can talk to in Lawrence, someone who isn't exactly on the legal side."

It wasn't really fair to ask Benny, not since he had left all of that behind him when he had returned to Louisiana (with Dean's help, as he always insisted on adding), but he wanted this situation of Cas' dealt with quickly. Stuff like that could escalate pretty easily if you didn't cut off the root as fast as you could.

"What – you in trouble, chief?"

He knew Benny would throw himself on his bike in a second if he thought Dean had problems, so he hastened to say, "Not really. It's just, a friend of mine ran into someone and now he needs to find him."

"A "friend of yours."" Dean could already feel Benny switch into protective mode – didn't he know something about that whenever Sammy had a problem – and he sighed. "Yes, Benny, really. If you want, you can talk to him."

"Dean is really only helping me out" Cas called out indignantly, and he held back a chuckle. He was such a weird nerdy dude. And he was pretty cool too, having forgiven him for their almost-kiss. And if Dean could still read signals, then right now Cas was –

"Okay, brother, I believe you. Sounds like you got a real special guy there."

Dean knew very well what Benny was alluding too, but chose not to comment. Not with Cas right there.

"Yeah, anyway, any chance one of your old contacts is still in the game? I'm not asking you to make any calls, don't worry. I just need someone to talk to."

"I don't like it, Dean. You were the one who helped me out of that, and now you – "

"I'm just trying to help out."

"I know. And I know you're not going to stop, no matter what I say, so..." Benny sighed. "There's someone. It'll cost you some money to get information, but at least he keeps to himself and makes no trouble afterwards, so that'll be the end of it. They call him the Old Man. Used to work for him, but you matter don't mention me."

"Where can I find him?"

"He's got a cabin at Clinton Lake. He has a boat there. I'll text you where exactly."

"Thanks, Benny."

"No problem. Just... let me know everything's alright."

"I will. I owe you."

"Not you, brother. Never."

They hung up.

"So" Dean said, "We have a lead."

"Who did you speak to?"

"An old friend of mine. Benny Lafitte. He had a hard life, ended up on the wrong side. He's all cleaned up now though, working as a chef in a diner back home."

"You helped him?"

Dean shrugged. "I gave him a few pointers, and I suppose I helped him get on the road, so..."

By now James was well acquainted with Dean's habit of playing down his accomplishments. He had certainly done far more than give Benny advice. His heart beat faster as Dean shuffled his feet, clearly uncomfortable under the attention he was receiving. This was not helping his attraction (he still called it that, he couldn't let it be more, it could never be more) at all.

"Anyway, he told me where we could get information on Langleben. Some guy he used to work for."

"Dean, I don't think – "

"Don't worry. Benny said we just have to pay him. He won't ask questions and tell us anything we need to know."

"Alright. How much money do you think we need?"

"I can – "

"No Dean." He was not going to allow him to pay for his mistakes.

"I'm paying."

"But with the medical care..."

He'd almost forgotten about his poor stricken uncle in the hospital. Right. Dean's neighbour. The one he actually cared for – only he _was_ Dean's neighbour –

He shook his head to clear it (where had he gone? Had he really come to believe his own lies? Was that a side effect? Please God no) and replied, "Uncle James has a very good insurance. So – where are we going?"

It was clear the topic wasn't finished for Dean, but he only replied, "I'm waiting for a text – "

His phone rang.

"Guess that'll be the coordinates."


	10. Chapter 10

"Thank God it's Friday" Dean said. "We can make our way there first thing tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" James asked. He had no time to lose.

"Where I come from, you don't go visit potential mafia bosses in the middle of the night" Dean pointed out. Of course he was right. But that didn't change the fact that he wanted to go right now. After all, Langleben could already be –

"Ah, Cas, don't look so scared. I promise I can protect you from the big bad gamblers for one night".

Sadly, Dean protecting him for a night conjured up images that had little to do with actual protection detail, and he once more felt himself flushing bright red.

Dean really shouldn't have checked Cas out when he turned away out of embarrassment, but his gorgeous new neighbour was certainly sending all the right vibes. As in, he was definitely interested. He couldn't be that wrong about body language. Maybe it had just been too soon, or he'd been too forceful –

 _Stop it right there, Wichester. The man needs help. Yeah, he's hot. Doesn't mean you can hit that just 'cause you really really want to._

"Anyway, now that's clear, food."

James had forgotten to eat all day, he realized when his stomach started to growl.

Dean laughed. "You gotta take better care of you, man". He grew serious as he remembered. "I mean... not that you have it easy... are you sure there isn't any news?"

He shook his head. "His condition is still unchanged."

"That sucks."

He nodded, wondering what he would tell Dean if he was successful. If he suddenly turned up looking his age again – what then? Would Dean believe him if he told him his nephew had just left without saying goodbye? And that he had suddenly, miraculously recovered?

He'd never thought he'd have to move again, not in his old age, but it looked more and more like a necessity. But would Dean, who was ready to help complete strangers, be content not knowing what really happened to his neighbour, whose nephew he seemed to find attractive?

It was a mess.

"Cas? I just asked you what you'd like for dinner."

He blinked and shook his head. "Sorry. I was lost in thoughts."

"No surprise there. Just sit down and relax, I'm gonna whip up something for us".

As it turned out, his kitchen was all but empty so Dean, mumbling under his breath how "some people really needed to learn how to survive" dragged him over to his place.

Why was Dean still single, he wondered as he sat down so he could once more guiltily watch the young man cook. He was nice, he was beautiful, he was smart, he could cook...

He realized that he was at the point of drifting into a day dream where he could return to Dean cooking every night and reminded himself that it was not an option. It didn't matter what he wanted, it was not an option. Dean would find someone, someone his age, someone who deserved him, eventually. By then, James would most likely be dead anyway. He was eighty-one, after all.

"Pancakes?" he asked when he recognized what Dean was preparing. He smirked at him.

"What? Think you can only eat them in the morning? Ease up, grandpa."

That heard much more than it should have – it shouldn't have hurt at all, really. Dean was joking. He had no idea who he was talking to. As a matter of fact, he had always been a little more polite and less cocky when he had been speaking to him before; probably his way of respecting his elders.

He cleared his throat. "I was merely surprised. I am well aware that, while they are called breakfast foods, pancakes may be consumed at any given hour if one so chooses."

Dean shook his head affectionately as he sat the plates, declining Cas' help.

"You look beat. Just stay there."

He was tired, but more because of the situation than because of the demands of the day. He had so much more energy than before. His knee jumped up and down as Dean laid a plate before him, his hands immediately straightening out the fork and knife. He swallowed then tore his eyes away from his long slim fingers.

Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.

He knew, of course, that part of him wished it would never come. It was crazy, of course, just prolonging the inevitable. Even if Langleben was already gone, he would never be able to do that to Dean, continue lying to him while they were... growing closer. He'd have to leave either way.

And, he suddenly realized, protecting himself, his own heart, wasn't what mattered. This was his problem and it was his own fault that he had suddenly decided to have a game of cards for the first time in decades.

But he couldn't allow Dean to... develop feelings for him. He didn't want to hurt him.

Only he had no idea how to make himself disagreeable enough, and he still needed Dean's help. True, he could try and find the Old Man alone, but Dean's friend had given them the information and it would be much safer to go with someone who could claim some form of relationship with the criminal, even if it was just being a friend of a friend.

Speaking of...

"Dean? About this man we're going to visit... If you helped Benny get out of this life, doesn't that mean you took an employee from him?"

"Yeah, but don't worry. I know how to talk to these guys" he replied carelessly.

"Dean..."

"I told you, no problem, Cas".

James didn't see how there wasn't one. He really didn't need to put Dean in danger as well, after everything else.

Dean sighed. "I can see these wheels turning."

"I just want to keep you save" James murmured.

"I'm well capable of doing that myself."

"Obviously not. Why else would you help me?"

"Because you need it, and because you are alone" Dean replied matter-of-factly.

"Frankly, I don't need more of a reason than that."

"You are a good man, Dean Winchester" was all he could say.

He snorted. "Right. Sorry, Cas, but I think you might be a bit light-headed from being hungry. Try and start eating."

James' concentrated on his plate as he thought about why Dean would consider himself anything else than a good man. He had proven again and again how caring and friendly he was, and yet he seemed to believe he wasn't worth the praise.

"It's delicious" he eventually began to break the silence that had settled over them, but unlike all the other times they had been alone together, it wasn't comfortable. It felt heavy, unnatural almost.

"Thanks. Had to make them for Sammy all the time when we were younger."

When he was trying to feed them, James was ready to bet. A child, burdened with the task of raising one. And yet Dean still didn't think he was a good man.

"So that's why you like to eat them for dinner."

"Well, even a hundred different versions of mac and cheese get boring after a while."

Cas smiled as he pictured a younger Dean cooking for his brother. Despite the implications, it certainly seemed like these weren't bad memories for Dean, judging by his smile.

"You must be very close." He knew they were. How often had Dean spoken of his brother during the evenings they had spent together?

"We are" Dean sounded sad. "I just wish he'd live closer, you know? I mean, I'm glad he's out there studying and having the time of his life becoming a lawyer, it's just..."

James covered his hand with his own before he could stop himself.

"There's nothing shameful in missing your brother Dean" he said. "Distance doesn't change the fact that you are very fond of each other."

In these moments, he really sounded a lot like his uncle, and Dean allowed himself to intertwine their fingers as he smiled at him.

"Thanks, man. Although really I should be the one comforting you."

"It's not a competition" James reminded him. He still hadn't pulled his hand away, although he really should have.

"Yeah, well, whatever you say" Dean mumbled, but he resumed eating with only one hand.

And James, to his elation as well as shame, did the same.

"See?" Dean asked when they were finished and he was cleaning the dishes by himself, much to James' annoyance, "all it took was a little grub. You look better already."

He did feel better, although he didn't know whether it was because of the food or Dean.

James decided it was high time that he left for the night, despite Dean's obvious disappointment at his announcement that he had to go.

"Good you found a thicker jacket, but I have to say the trench coat suited you better" he commented as James put it on.

"I like it better too, but I'd rather not freeze to death".

Dean chuckled. "No, that would be a waste."

He reached out and squeezed James's shoulder.

"Try to get some rest, man. We'll figure this out tomorrow, I promise."

And instead of thanking him and leaving, as he should have done, James C. Novak did the stupidest thing he'd ever done.

Because it was late, because Dean looked beautiful in the light coming from the kitchen, because he wanted to, he pressed a quick kiss against his lips, only to realize what he'd done and dart out of the house, a quick "bye" shouted over his shoulder.

He ran home, slammed the door beside him and leaned against it, breathing heavily.

What had he just done?


	11. Chapter 11

Dean stood still for he didn't know how long, staring at his door.

Well. That was... unexpected.

He gently touched his lips, then smiled. So it really wasn't one-sided.

That was... something, at least. True, Cas had bolted, but they were going to see each other tomorrow...

To find a criminal, but still.

So he could keep Cas from being harassed because he owed a gambler money.

While his uncle was dying in the hospital.

Man, this was fucked up. Then again, why was he surprised? This was his life, after all.

But he was still confused. Very, very confused.

And so he did what he usually did in these situations.

He called his brother.

Only when he glanced at his watch did he realize how late it was.

Sam was once again studying late. Thankfully Jess understood and never commented on his staying up – except for that one time, when he hadn't really realized how late it was.

Until lunch.

He also liked the fact that Dean often called at night. It was not easy, living so far away from his brother – in fact, one of the things he liked forward to the most was moving back into his vicinity – and he loved hearing from him.

Especially since Dean had had a kind of date. Sam knew he was lonely, even though he would never have admitted it, with not only him but Dean's closest friends having moved.

His phone rang just when he had decided that he could not read another page without getting a headache.

Dean was about to hang up, berating himself on behaving like a girl when it came to a cute boy, when Sam answered.

"Hey."

"Hi, Sam. Sorry, I know it's late – "

"Dean, I've told you again and again that it's no trouble."

It truly wasn't.

His brother was silent for a moment.

"Dean?"

"Let's say a girl – or a guy, you know I'm not picky – "

He wondered if Dean had forgotten he had a pretty solid idea who he was talking about.

"Let's say they give you mixed signals."

"Mixed signals?"

Dean always insisted that he should be the one looking after Sam, but this did nothing to curb his own protective instincts, which were rearing their ugly head. If mixed signals meant that guy hurt him in any way –

"Yeah. I tried to kiss him when we woke up – not like that, it's a long story, but anyway – he bolted. Then he came to apologize and was all cute and blushing and stuff, and when we said goodnight, he kissed me. And bolted again."

"That are mixed signals" Sam admitted.

"See? I mean, I know he's under a lot of stress, with his uncle and the other stuff – "

"What other stuff?" he asked immediately. Dean had the habit of throwing himself right in the middle of things when he was convinced he could help. He still shuddered at the memory of Dean trying to help Benny. True, that had worked out in the end, but still.

"Calm down, mum. He just needs to find someone and doesn't know how to track him down. It's easy as pie."

"If you say so. But you'll call if there are any problems?"

"Call the lawyer if I get arrested. Check."

"Dean..."

"Nah, Sammy, it's all gonna be alright. Don't worry about me."

But he did worry. He always worried. He hoped Dean wasn't crushing on a criminal. That thought had been scary enough when he'd had suspicions about his brother and Benny, thank you very much.

"Alright. So – you and this – Cas – you think –"

"Oh, no. Not going there."

"Why not? You tease me with Jess all the time –"

"Because you two are disgustingly cute. Anyway, it was one kiss and he left before I could get my moves on."

Sam snorted.

"Now who's sharing too much information?"

"Whatever. Go back to studying, you freaking nerd."

"Goodnight, Dean."

"Bye, Sammy."

They hung up. At least Dean wasn't alone, now that his neighbour was in the hospital. Sam couldn't deny that he hoped Cas would stick around, even if that meant his uncle stayed sick. Dean was helping him with some stuff, yeah, but it didn't necessarily follow that he was in danger. And Dean was good at finding people. Their upbringing had made sure of that.

James couldn't believe he had done that. What in heaven's name had possessed him to kiss Dean? He was beautiful, yes; he was kind; and James was lying to him through his teeth.

And now Dean would think...

"Why?" he mumbled. "Why did you do it?"

Of course he knew why. But that didn't mean he'd stop asking himself that any time soon.

Dean's lips had been so soft, so welcoming. If he had stayed, then perhaps...

No. He could never have stayed. To make him believe that he slept with someone who didn't even exist...

And now he had thought about sleeping with Dean. Wonderful. It was official.

"You're a vile human being" he spat, then let himself slump on the sofa. "And now you're talking to yourself. Wonderful."

And tomorrow he had to allow Dean to drive him to the lake and speak to the old man so that he could locate Langleben. Which he wanted to do. He absolutely wanted to find him.

No, he realized, his heart sinking. He didn't. He really didn't.

Kissing Dean had been bad enough, but now, in his heart of hearts, he really didn't want to be old again. He wanted to stay young. He wanted to stay with Dean.

Didn't he deserve someone? He had already spent a lifetime looking for a partner, someone he could spend years with, someone he could lo-

But he hadn't found them. He had been meant to stay alone, and no matter how right it felt to be with Dean, it wasn't. It would never be right. He couldn't tell him the truth; if Dean was developing feelings for him – and he really really shouldn't have hoped he was – he wouldn't fall for the real him, the one he had met countless times without realizing. He would fall in love with an act, a lie. James couldn't let that happen.

He didn't know Patrick Langleben. He had no idea what sort of person he was, but even though he was most likely a criminal, he didn't deserve death.

And of one thing he was sure.

Dean didn't deserve to be lied to.

He had to keep his distance. It wouldn't be easy, but once they had the information, he would find Langleben on his own. Dean would return to his nice, uncomplicated life without de-aged neighbours forcing him to chase after criminals.

He went to bed. When he finally fell asleep, he fell into vague dreams of green eyes and full lips.

Dean got up at seven when he found he couldn't sleep anymore, his mind still reeling. Cas had kissed him. Cas must want him, then. But Cas had run off. Maybe he thought he'd come on too strong? Dean shook his head at the thought. He was sure he had given off all kinds of signals that he would have nothing against getting to know him better – well, biblically. Although he had to admit this was much more, could be much more. Cas was just such a freaking catch he couldn't really imagine him going for Dean for longer than one night. That would be okay too.

Well, alright. Not exactly. But when Cas returned home, he could at least say he had had that in his bed, right?

That wasn't going to cut it, not with Cas, but at least he could pretend and deal with that later. Once he'd got the guy out of this scrape, they could figure this out (and well, hopefully – but that was for later) before he had to leave again.

When James...

He really hoped Cas would get to see his uncle, at least. And if he could, he really wanted a chance to say goodbye, too.

Preferably without letting him know that he had been ill-advisedly hitting on his nephew since he arrived. That might not fit the goodbye he hoped he and his friend could have.

As good as it could be, anyway, with James dying and all. He sighed. It must be awful to be lying around waiting for death, no one there for him. Hopefully they kept him under enough meds, so he didn't feel any pain.

That had been one of the few good things about his Dad's death. At least it had been quick, one swift fall down a bottle in the end, simply surrendering to unconsciousness.

Dean shook his head. Thinking about that never led to a nice place, and he needed to have his wits about him today.

They were after all going to visit a criminal.

 _Get a grip, Winchester,_ he told himself as his doorbell rang. _What is the worst that could happen?_


	12. Chapter 12

James hoped he wasn't blushing again as he rang Dean's doorbell. He had decided to act friendly, but distant today and cause Dean to attribute his lapse of judgement to his imaginary uncle's condition.

Hopefully Dean wouldn't try to kiss him. That would just be awkward.

 _Alright, let him call the shots. Poor guy has enough problems. Just concentrate on finding the right spot at the lake, get the information,_ Dean repeated to himself.

"Hey, Cas" he greeted him cheerfully.

"Hello, Dean" he answered honestly. It had grown somewhat warmer, but still not enough that he could war his beloved trench coat. He really wished he could bury his hands in it right now. It had always calmed him.

"So" he said, "the lake it is."

"But are we sure he's going to be there? It's November" James reminded him.

"According to Benny, he only feels comfortable near water. Stays there whenever his business doesn't require his presence. So even if he's not there now, we'll just have to keep an eye out."

James wondered how he could explain to Dean that he could do that on his own – that he should. His neighbour wouldn't easily agree to let him go talk to a criminal by himself. Especially since his friend had recommended them to go find him in the first place.

"She's really beautiful" James said without thinking when they stepped up to the Impala. Thankfully, Dean only gave him a happy grin, apparently assuming that for anyone with sense, a car must automatically be female.

"Yeah, that's my baby. Fixed her up so many times you wouldn't believe it. It was my Dad's. He gave her to me on my eighteenth birthday."

He never really allowed himself to think about it, but he had always been relieved that she had passed into his hands.

If Dad had kept her, he'd undoubtedly either sold her or wrapped her around a lamp post eventually; they would not only have lost their father, albeit one who hadn't really been their father in a long time, but the only home they had ever had as children. And he had seen the same knowledge in Sam's eyes during the funeral. They hadn't talked about it.

"You obviously take very good care of her. Otherwise, I assume she wouldn't be running anymore, not in this weather."

"Hah, no way I'm keeping her off the streets where she belongs. Cost me quite a bit, but worth every penny."

They got in.

"Sorry, it's gonna take a little time to warm up."

"It's no problem. I dressed accordingly."

Dean smirked. "Don't worry, I checked."

It was close enough to Dean admitting to checking him out that he had to look away.

"How long?"

"The drive? About two hours, I'd wager. Oh, by the way, you don't have anything against the old classics, do you?"

Once again, James guiltily remembered Dean telling him something a month before.

"You mean like Led Zeppelin?"

When Dean didn't answer, he turned his head to find him staring at him.

"Dude. Could you be more perfect?"

Now there was no question. He was definitely blushing. He looked down at his hands before he did something stupid like kiss Dean again.

"I just appreciate the classics" he said quietly, for lack of anything else, and Dean chuckled.

"I can tell. Cars, music..."

 _If these were the only things I'd appreciate..._

An awkward silence settled over them.

"I must say, it's been a while since I talked to a criminal" Dean finally tried to break it. "It's gonna be fun."

"You should never have had to" Cas said, surprisingly sincere, and Dean stared at him a bit longer than strongly advisable, but he didn't look at him again.

"I already told you. How we were raised... It's no big deal".

"You make it sound like every eight-year-old child can be expected to look after their four-year-old brother."

That... surprised Dean. Not because Cas was saying this stuff, but because he could have sworn he hadn't told him exactly how old he and Sam were. Then, of course, his mouth had a tendency to run away with him, especially if he was talking to someone hot. So maybe he'd just let it slip.

He was probably just nervous because they were heading towards the lake.

He hadn't told Cas, but when he'd met Benny, this big Cajun guy had been scared of his boss, and Benny didn't get scared lightly. And after the stories he'd told, Dean had more than understood him. Luckily, no one ever knew who had helped Benny back on his feet – well, on legal ground, anyway. So it shouldn't be too hard to pretend that they'd heard about the old man through the usual channels.

He had enough money at home for emergencies, so that should do it. Cas was so helplessly innocent that he hadn't even asked for the price. He could always pay him back. Not that Dean would demand it or anything. He wouldn't have known what to do with the money anyway. He still wasn't used to have any, even as a home owner.

"So we're clear. I do the talking" he repeatedly told Cas on the way. He might have been an interpreter, but that didn't mean he'd find the right words for what they were about to ask.

He'd talked his way out of several bad situations as a kid, he could do it again.

And if bad came to worse –

Well, at least he had an almost lawyer in the family.

Come to think of it, Sammy already knew several lawyers. So there. All sides covered.

Not that it helped. If something happened to him, he could easily deal. But what if Cas came into the crossfire?

Why was he so protective anyway? Why was he so hung up on him? Dean normally wasn't one for serenading anyone he came across (unless it was that special kind that so easily found him a companion for the night) and here he was, driving to speak to a mob boss because Cas' eyes were just so damn blue.

The stubble didn't hurt either, and neither did his personality.

He was already in much, much too deep, and he knew it.

He could practically hear Sammy bitching in his mind.

 _Really, Dean? That things with Benny was bad enough, and at least you didn't do it because you had the hots for him_ (almost true, but at that time the last thing he'd wanted to tell Sammy was that he did, in fact, like guys) _. But here we are, driving to meet a mob boss, all because he smiled at you..._

 _Just get it over with_ , he told himself, _you can deal with the other stuff later_.

James watched Dean drive. The last time they had sat in the car together, he hadn't had much time to observe him since he had believed he was dying. Somehow he seemed more relaxed behind the wheel than he was anywhere else, as if driving came as natural to him as breathing; and strangely, the rock music he'd picked fit so well that it didn't disturb the peace of the moment. It didn't even matter where they were going, at least for one precious second.

For one second, he had the exact thing he had been dreaming about, sitting in a car with a beautiful boy, and he just as young.

He clenched his hands into fists and reminded himself that he was here to fix this. No matter how much he wanted to kiss Dean again, he couldn't. It wouldn't be right.

Maybe if he had told him the truth from the beginning...

Only that Dean would have thought him mad.

Everyone would have thought him mad. That was why he had lied in the first place. Only that he had never counted on certain... complications.

He had never considered that Dean would do his outmost to help him in this "difficult time" even though he really should have. After all, this was the man who had shown up in front of his house, shovel in hand, and had told him he'd just cleared his drive for no other reason than he wanted to help.

He stole another glance at him. The sunlight caressed Dean's face. He was humming along to the song, caught in the moment just like James was.

Dean's worry had given way to much pleasanter thoughts; he was contemplating if, perhaps, after... everything (and he really tried not to see James as an inconvenience, he was his friend) Cas might, just might want to stick around. Go on a road trip maybe to forget about things for a while.

It would be nice. And if more kissing were involved, Dean wouldn't say no.

First of all though they had to get Langeleben off Cas' back. At least he hadn't had any problems until now, so by gangster standards the guy seemed to be pretty relaxed.

That thought didn't help much when the lake came into view and he remembered why they were there in the first place.


	13. Chapter 13

"That's the place" Dean announced as he looked at the small cabin.

Cas frowned. "It is not exactly what I pictured" he admitted as Dean got out of the car.

"Did you think he should have been rocking the whole secret hideout thing? With like a secret cave so no one could find him?" Dean teased him as they moved toward it, to calm his nerves as well as Cas'.

"No". Somehow, even when they were throwing themselves into danger, Cas could still scowl at him adorably. Dean swallowed.

"I just expected him to have set up some form of security system".

"Could still have one. Not all cameras are visible, and don't get me started on microphones and possible alarms."

James was tempted to ask when he saw Dean check out the cabin. His history must be even more difficult than he had let on if he knew how to do that. He of course didn't believe in a second that Dean had ever done anything illegal (well, except when it came to feed himself and his brother when they were children, perhaps, and considering James had been born in 1935, he knew the crippling hunger that would cause someone to do anything to feel full again).

Yet he was worried. What exactly was he dragging Dean into? He had been thinking about it since yesterday, and he had yet failed to find an answer.

Just please let this end well. Then i will find LAngleben on my own and get this over with.

"So what do we do?"

Dean shrugged.

"I suppose we... knock?"

"Won't that make him suspicious?"

"Not as much as loitering about his place will. Gangsters are notoriously paranoid, and if he has cameras, or has already spotted us, standing around here won't help. Let's go."

They advanced cautiously.

"Just remember" Dean said, "Let me do the talking".

"And you remember to be careful" James told him sternly. Dean smirked.

"What would be the fun in that?"

James shook his head as Dean knocked.

When the door opened, he was surprised.

When he had heard the man they were looking for was called "the Old Man" he had expected someone in his fifties, not someone seemingly younger than him (currently) or Dean. There was an odd look in his eyes, though, as if he had already seen more than James ever would. He was instantly on edge as his eyes travelled from Dean to him.

"What can I do for you?"

He didn't appear concerned at all.

"We need information" Dean said simply. James almost reached out to stop him, then remembered that he did indeed know better than him, and the Old Man didn't look concerned. He just kept studying them with the same unreadable gaze.

"What kind of information?"

"Not about you, or any of your work, don't worry. We need to find someone, and I have it on good authority that you are the one to ask. We'll pay, don't worry."

James would pay him back. He had more than enough money saved up; come to think of it, he had been an idiot not to insist on using it immediately. How could he have allowed this?

Because, when it came to Dean Winchester, he had never been able to think straight.

The Old Man was studying James now, his eyes piercing through him. James suddenly had the strange and impossible thought that he knew. But no – there was no way he could. James could hardly believe himself what had happened, even after the last few days. Even after kissing Dean.

"Come in" he said calmly. James' instincts screamed at him not to obey, but what choice do they have? Still, he tried to give Dean a look that indicated he should stay behind. If he understood, he didn't react at all. He simply stepped in, and James had no choice but to follow.

The room they entered was small and comfortable; three doors led away from it, more than James would have expected from such a simple cabin.

It was colder than he had thought it would be, as well.

"My apologies for the temperature. I do prefer not to interfere with the forces of nature, especially around water."

"I did hear you love the lake" Dean supplied. James wondered if it was the right thing to say – it could implicate Benny, after all – but apparently he managed to set up some sort of rapport. The Old Man smiled.

"That is true. There is something calming about water, don't you think?"

"There is" James agreed unthinkingly. "Earth, sky, and water, are you with me? Speak".

"I didn't think anyone read James Merrill, these days."

"I could say the same."

Dean cleared his throat.

"Anyway, let's get back to the topic at hand."

The Old Man turned to look at him.

"Indeed. You said you were trying to find someone? I could help you. I have many contacts."

"Let's just say, we owe someone money, and we have to find him."

"Normally, it is the other way around."

"Just trying to get ahead of payments" Dean said simply.

"So who is it?"

"Patrick Langleben" Dean replied evenly. Only James noticed the change in the Old Man's demeanour at the name. His shoulders tensed and he looked at him again, a calculating look in his eyes.

"Do you only enjoy James Merrill, or are the other poets of the same decade you read as well?"

And suddenly, James was sure.

He _knew_.

He couldn't imagine how, but he knew. He knew what had happened.

"Can you help us?" Dean asked instead.

"All in its right time. Patrick Langleben is a difficult man to find. Have you looked through all the casinos and gambling places in town? He prefers a... private environment. But I am sure you can tell us all about that."

James met his gaze calmly. "I'm afraid not. The circumstances were... more complicated."

"I am sure they were."

There was something decidedly unsettling about his manners; as if he was much, much older than –

James had been stupid. So very, very stupid.

There was one reason, and one reason only, why the Old Man would suspect, why he would ever think James had become younger by ways he could not even begin to understand.

And why he would choose to call himself the Old Man to begin with.

Because he was older than he was, much older.

James wasn't the only one this had happened to.

Only, if he had been a betting man, he would have been ready to bet that the Old Man had sought this fate.

"Dean..." he began slowly. When their eyes met, he glanced at the door.

Dean understood immediately.

"So... you have no idea where he might be holed up?"

"I might, but only if I may talk to your friend alone."

James was sure that confrontation wouldn't end well.

"Nah" Dean announced, "I have always been terribly jealous."

The Old Man raised his eyebrows.

"I assure you I have no ulterior motives."

"See, I find that difficult to believe" Dean pointed out. "Otherwise it hardly seems worth your time to separate us."

The Old Man stood up and took a few steps toward Dean. James admired his neighbour standing is ground instead of moving back.

"You have no idea, have you?" he asked. "You have no idea what he is."

"Don't go all psycho on me. I know quite enough, thank you" Dean bit back.

The Old Man chuckled. "Oh, I wouldn't say that."

James quickly moved so he stood closer to Dean. He didn't want him to get between them.

"Have you considered telling him? After all, he is your boyfriend. Does he know – "

"There ain't nothing Cas could tell me that I would be interested in if you think I oughta know, pal" Dean interrupted him.

"In that case, I am afraid I will have to use force."

Dean snorted. "Good luck. It's two against – "

One of the doors sprang open as three tall, well-built men rushed in. They had no time to react before the first barrelled into Dean; James barely managed to avoid the second one.

During the sixties, he had taken a few bartitsu classes until he had been quite efficient, and now muscle memory kicked in as the third man grabbed at him.

Meanwhile, the Old Man stood by, watching them fight.

It made James unexpectedly angry. He knew instinctively that this criminal was much older than him. How often had he won years from people? And yet he let others fight his battles.

He kicked the man in the ribs; he staggered back. James used the moment to his advantage by sweeping his legs to the side, causing him to fall down on the floor; he quickly scrambled over and smashed his head down with enough force to knock him out but hopefully not enough to cause damage.

Dean had taken on the two remaining men at the same time; while he was holding out, he would have no doubt eventually have been overpowered if James had not thrown himself into the back of one of them without thinking, allowing Dean to move the other further down the room and eventually knock him out with a bottle containing a small ship that he burst over the man's head.

He turned around to see Cas slamming the last guy into the nearest wall and went to help him.

When he dropped down on the floor, due to Dean having attacked his knees from behind, Cas grabbed him by the hair and knocked his head against the wall. He stopped moving.

They stared at one another, panting heavily.

"Dude, that was awesome. I had no idea you could fight like that."

"You appear to be quite proficient at it as well."

"Yeah, well... Let's just get out of here."

The Old Man had vanished.

They returned to the Impala quickly and drove off, Dean ignoring any speed signs.

"At least he doesn't know our names" he said. "And I doubt he'll trouble himself with looking for us, unless..." he trailed off.

"Unless?" James asked, already knowing what was coming. Even though he trusted him, Dean had to think about what the man had said. After all, he had just risked his life for who he thought was Castiel Novak, his neighbour's nephew.

"Nah. Forget it. It's not important" Dean immediately deflected.

"Dean – "

"He was just trying to distract us – "

"Dean – "

"Don't think about it, I'm sorry – "

"Dean" he stated. He had a right to know. Even if he thought James was crazy, he had to know.

"Perhaps you should stop the car".


	14. Chapter 14

That… wasn't exactly what Dean had expected. Right after the fight, the adrenaline coursing through his veins, he had barely been able to think straight, and he had been about to kiss Cas when he had turned away.

And now this strangely calm request to stop the car...

He figured they were far enough away to do so (even though his instincts told him to keep driving), but he really didn't want what Cas had to say. Not that he believed that guy for even a second. No, Cas wasn't some crook who had wormed his way into his life just so he could help him track down Langleben. Apart from that being absolutely ridiculous, he knew how guys like the Old Man worked. He'd tried to drive a wedge between them. That was all there was.

He still parked the car by the side of the road.

"So what did you want to talk about?" he began.

"It's about what the Old Man said" Cas answered. "You must be thinking about it".

Dean shrugged. "Not really interested in what the nut job had to say."

"You should be" Cas replied. A heavy feeling settled in Dean's stomach.

"I really don't – "

"Dean" Cas stated in a voice that brooked no argument. "You have to listen to what I have to say. It is not fair to keep certain things from you, when you have done nothing but help for... some time."

"Dude, I didn't even know you a week ago" Dean pointed out.

This was it. James took a deep breath and stopped himself from reaching out to Dean.

"That's not true. You did know me, just not in this form."

Dean frowned.

"What are you talking about?"

James tried to formulate his answer in a way that didn't sound crazy, failed, gave up and decided to tell Dean as simply as possible.

"I'm James. James C. Novak, your neighbour."

Dean blinked slowly.

"O...kay" he finally answered. "All clear. You're my eighty-one year old neighbour. Got it."

"Dean – " James tried, since it was clear he didn't believe him.

"No, no, I completely understand. Don't worry, I'm not mad. Let's get you home, yeah? It's been a difficult week – "

"Dean, I'm not crazy."

"I don't think you are" he answered soothingly. "Like I said, I get it. Just... try to get some rest. We will talk about it some more when we get –"

"Dean, stop it!"

"Stop what?"

He was still acting very calm, eerily so. He couldn't help but wonder what had happened to him to make him react like this under such circumstances. It was exactly as he had feared; he thought James was crazy.

"When you came to introduce yourself to me, when you first moved into your house, you were wearing a red plaid shirt" he said abruptly, hoping he could convince him by reminding him of things only the two of them would know.

"What?"

"A red plaid shirt. I don't think I have seen you wearing it since then, or at least not since we have been talking. You have been cleaning my drive since the first snow of the year".

"I told I had been shovelling your –"

"And the shirt?" he interrupted him.

Dean stopped, puzzled.

"I always had herbal tea ready for you when you were done. And now and then, I would have bought pie for you. Pecan, because that is your favourite, but once I bought cherry pie. You immediately informed me that "It was delicious too, Mr. Novak"."

"No... that can't... you can't..." Dean tried to protest, but James kept on talking.

"You will find no James Novak in Lawrence Memorial Hospital, or anywhere else. I played an ill-advised game of poker with Patrick Langleben and somehow won fifty years from him. That's why I have to find him – I have to give them back before he – "

He stopped, unable to voice his fear.

Dean was staring at him.

"How would you – you couldn't have – you said James was in no shape to talk – but then, if you are..."

He swallowed, recalling one of the many conversations he'd had with his neighbour.

"What's my favourite song?"

"It's a tie between Led Zeppelin's _Travelling Riverside Blues_ and _Ramble On_ " James answered immediately. He had always retained affection for the "old classics" – ever since before they had been classics. He had been alive when the tracks had been published, after all.

"I never told you that."

"Yes, you – "

"That's not what I meant, Cas – James – I mean the thing is just impossible! Poker games don't make you younger!"

"Tell me about it" was his only answer.

Dean chuckled unexpectedly.

"You know, I alway thought you were very similar to your uncle. Well, if it's really you, it's no big surprise."

"I have never been a very good actor" he supplied. Dean smiled at him.

"I wouldn't say that..."

An uncomfortable silence filled the car as they both remembered what had passed between them.

"I can't believe..." Dean bit his lip. "Did you – I mean, before – man, this is awkward".

James nodded. "I definitely agree. But to answer your question – no, I was very happy with our friendship. I admired you, of course – you are very handsome, and kind, and intelligent. But certain... desires only made themselves known after I found myself in this body."

Dean had looked away, blushing; as he rubbed his neck with his right hand, he muttered, "No reason to go all fanboy on me... wait, desires?"

He looked at him. Now it was James' turn to blush once more.

"Like I said, you are very attractive. And when I – kissed you, I couldn't help myself" he admitted.

"Not that I'm surprised."

Dean winked at him as he rolled his eyes.

Then, suddenly, Dean was cradling his face in his hands.

"This is so weird" he breathed, "but I really want to kiss you right now" he admitted. "May I?"

James could only nod.

This was different than their almost kiss after he had almost frozen to death, or the one he had stolen from Dean the night before. There were lies between them, now.

Their first true kiss was passionate, gentle, caressing. James' hands soon found Dean's hair in a search for something to cling to.

Finally, they had to part to breathe. James' pressed his forehead against Dean's.

"That's not how I expected today to go" his neighbour commented.

"Me neither" James breathed, before he started to laugh. Dean joined him.

"Well, look at us."

Dean sat back, growing sombre.

"So... you said you wanted to find Langleben to... grow old again?"

James nodded.

"Have you thought about staying young?" Dean asked slowly.

"Of course. I can't deny that it is a great temptation." He knew of course what Dean was truly asking.

And he couldn't deny just how much he _wanted_ it.

He wanted to stay young, he wanted to stay with Dean. He wanted a chance to be blessedly, stupidly, completely in love. To be with the beautiful man fate had allowed him to meet when he had been too old to appreciate just how wonderful he was, inside and out.

But these were not his years. This was not his life.

He had to do the right thing.

"But I can't do that to him."

"Where did you find the guy anyway? If the customer back there knows him..." Dean trailed off.

"Wait. Do you think he was older than he looked, too?"

"Yes, I do."

"But then – maybe it doesn't even work that way! Maybe you're not supposed to find him. Maybe – "

"Dean" he interrupted him softly, taking his hand. "I know. Believe me, I know. And I'm sorry that I hurt you."

"You didn't hurt me" Dean pointed out, intertwining their fingers.

"But I will, won't I?" he inquired.

Dean looked anywhere but at him. He didn't like to talk about his feelings, especially not those kind of feelings. But Cas – James –

"How do I call you?" he asked bluntly. "Don't get me wrong, but Cas suits you better than James."

Cas seemed surprised, but replied, "It's actually my second name. Castiel."

"So that's what the C. Stands for" Dean mused. "Mind if I keep calling you Cas?"

He should have insisted that Dean use his real name, James was well aware of that. It would help him see him as his old neighbour who was off limits.

But if he wanted to convey that impression, he shouldn't have allowed him to kiss him. And he enjoyed being Cas. He enjoyed being young and as carefree as he could under the circumstances.

"I'll allow you to call me Cas if you answer my question" he finally said.

Dean swallowed.

"Yeah" he finally admitted, "Yeah, it will hurt. But I'm a big boy. Don't worry about it."

James did worry, of course. He knew how big Dean's heart was. He knew, as right as it felt, this would only bring him pain.

Both of them, but then – how much longer could he expect to live? He wouldn't have to deal with it for long. Dean, on the other hand...

"But – "

Dean had already started the car again.

And he hadn't let go of James' hand.

And, even though he knew it was a bad idea, James didn't either.


	15. Chapter 15

Dean's mind was still reeling. Big surprise when he had just found out that the guy he was – really liking so far was not his neighbour's nephew but said neighbour who'd been magically de-aged through a game of poker.

Thank God that had never happened to him. Imagine trying to win money to feed Sammy and returning to the motel as a toddler. Then what would they have done?

Now he was losing his mind. But he and Cas certainly had never talked about his favourite music. He and James had.

Which meant he and Cas had because they were the same person –

This was freaking confusing.

Not to mention that Dean had then made a typical sound Dean Winchester decision to kiss him anyway, and he didn't even regret it because that had been a very awesome kiss. Cas (he was glad he could keep calling him Cas; it really did fit him better for some reason he couldn't pinpoint) certainly hadn't forgotten any move since he had grown old.

And at least Dean had been right. His neighbour was very hot as a young man.

That just sounded kind of pervy.

Wasn't Dean's fault the guy was so easy on the eyes, though.

And they were still holding hands.

So Dean figured Cas was definitely into him.

Also, eighty-one years old.

Dean should have known. He never caught a break when it came to relationships, so why should this gorgeous man be the exception?

He'd made him talk about his feelings too. He hadn't wanted that, but Cas was right. It would hurt like a son of a bitch when Cas was back to normal. Somehow, he'd wormed his way under Dean's skin and he would have to deal with it. Not that he'd show him – no, the guy had already enough problems as it was.

Cas was a good guy. Dean had known that ever since he had first made him tea after that snowstorm that had come out of nowhere and he had remembered that his neighbour was too old to properly clean his drive. So he was going to do the right thing and give up this actually awesome thing that had fallen into his lap. That couldn't be easy.

Dean had never been old, but he could imagine that it was no ride in the park.

At least, he decided, his neighbour wasn't dying alone somewhere. One problem solved.

Only about a million left.

The old man certainly wouldn't tell them where Langleben was, if he even knew. But if Cas was right, and he somehow used this whole poker game to stay young...

But wait a moment – didn't that mean that Langleben was involved somehow?

"Cas? How exactly did you end up winning the years?"

It was the question Cas had feared – not because it was imposible to answer but because he didn't want to remind Dean that he had been lying to him all along.

He told him the truth.

"So it was the very evening before I thought I met you?"

He nodded.

"Do you have any idea how scared I was that night? You hugging me felt like goodbye."

"It was" he admitted. "I thought I was dying."

Dean snorted. "That doesn't make me feel better, whether you're young or old. We're friends, Cas."

They were more. But neither of them had as yet acknowledged it with as many words.

Yet gripping Dean's hand tightly enough to almost leave bruises probably told him enough.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Doesn't matter" Dean quickly dismissed his fears. James frowned. He didn't like it when Dean did that, but he couldn't help it now –

The thought that he would never be able to shot through his mind. Of course he had known that he had to do the right thing, and what it entailed. He had known that he would have to try and find Langleben, and what would most likely happen if he did.

But he had never realized that it truly meant that he would be old again. He would be old again, leaving Dean behind to find someone else who was the right age.

He swallowed. He had no choice. He should not feel bad about this.

Yet he felt that a chance would be taken from him. A chance that had never belonged to him in the first place, he tried to remind himself; it didn't really work.

How would it feel when he was back to normal? When touching Dean like this, kissing him was wrong, holding him back?

He didn't want to think about it.

"So you're saying he had an illegal casino. Maybe that's what he was betting for. Years. Maybe he's behind it all, and – "

"It doesn't matter, Dean" he interrupted him, guessing what he was about to say. "I didn't ask for this. No matter what he does with his years usually, I had no idea what was going on. Giving them back is the right thing to do."

"I know" Dean admitted after a pause. "I know. It's just – "

He stopped.

"Me, too" James breathed.

"Anyway" Dean said, "our last plan obviously backfired. We're going to need another one".

"You think it backfired?" he inquired calmly. Dean laughed.

"Just a bit. You fight well though, gotta give you that."

"There are many things you don't know about me."

"I'd say we got the biggest out of the way" Dean supplied, squeezing his hand.

"I guess so" James agreed.

"Still, you've got moves. What was that, anyway? Never saw someone fight like that, and I've seen plenty."

"Bartitsu. Interest in it revived in the sixties, and I took a few courses..."

Dean shook his head.

"You are incredible. Well, apart from the fact that you are... incredible anyway..." He huffed. "You know what I mean."

"Yes, I do" Cas chuckled. "And thank you. You are very incredible yourself".

"If you say so..."

Dean sighed. "Sadly, we're still on square one."

James couldn't have disagreed more, but since he would have focused more on the changes in their friendship than the task at hand (which he really shouldn't be thinking about at all) he had to admit Dean was right.

"And now Langleben might be warned that we are looking for him" Dean continued.

"Do you really think the man we just left is going to warn anyone?" Cas asked.

He sighed as he pulled his car to a stop in front of his house.

"No. Sorry. Wishful thinking, I guess. Can't help it."

Dean figured, since Cas had already forced him to be open about his feelings, he might as well confess that it would be totally fine by him if Langleben shrivelled up long before they could get to him.

He'd never said he was a good person. Far from it.

"Dean – "

"I'm starving" he stated as he moved out of the Impala, feeling that he had shared enough. "Got enough in the fridge to make a good lunch".

He could have sworn he heard Cas sigh as he followed him, but it might just have been his imagination.

Watching him move in his kitchen, setting the plates, slightly humming to himself, Dean wondered how he hadn't guessed the truth from the start. Alright, maybe not the de-aging thing, that was just too strange; but that there was something off about someone who claimed never to have met his uncle and yet shared so many of his characteristics.

He smiled to himself as he stirred their lunch. Cas had been right about not being a good liar.

"What are you smiling about?" Cas asked.

He stiffened and turned his head to look at him.

"Nothing. Why?"

"Your eyes went soft" he said simply. "I really liked that smile. I hadn't seen it before."

That was exactly the kind of stuff James had always said to him – well, not exactly compliments, but he'd been just like other old people in that he'd ceased to care what he said out loud. Now, though, things like this sounded... different.

Good God, Dean was so gone on this guy it wasn't even funny. If he was honest, the knowledge that this was the guy he had always assumed he'd be all over if he just happened to be younger made it even worse.

And that kiss in the car...

 _Couldn't have picked something worse to do, right, Winchester? Right after he tells you why you can't be together, like, ever, you decide to kiss him because – because he's nice and kind and smart and freaking hot and funny and – not helping. Not helping at all._

"Now you're frowning. I don't like it" Cas told him, forcing him to smile against his will.

Cas – James – whatever was really something.

With a jolt, he realized he still didn't really regret the kiss. How could he? It might be the only one he'd get, apart from the one Cas had surprised him with.

At least he'd had one perfectly awesome kiss...

 _Get a grip. It's not like it would have lasted anyway. Why would someone like Cas stay with you?_

"Dean".

A warm hand on his back. A soft voice murmuring into his ear. He gripped the spoon tighter.

"I can tell you're putting yourself down again."

"No you can't" he said somewhat petulantly.

"I've known you long enough to be aware of your frankly alarming lack of self-worth."

Alright. Shouldn't he be more concerned about the whole anti aging poker game thing? Dean really didn't need him to be more perfect than he already was.

"Let it go, Cas" he said tiredly.

"But Dean – "

"I said, let it go."

James let himself fall on the chair with an annoyed huff.

He knew, of course, why it suddenly seemed incredibly important to talk to Dean about his self-perception, why he had not yet theorized where they might find Langleben without the old man's help.

It was infinitely more tempting to focus on all that instead of what must be done. It was so much more enchanting to enjoy Dean's presence as if he had any right to it.

It would have to stop. Soon.

Before he completely forgot who he was. 


	16. Chapter 16

Sam was worried and he couldn't say why. That wasn't to say that he never worried about his brother; on the contrary, knowing that Dean had grown lonelier and lonelier since he had left for college had given him all the more reason to; but he'd been on edge since he had woken up that morning.

Maybe being stuck together in a car for years had really caused them to develop a sixth sense when it came to each other's safety, he reflected when his phone rang and he saw that Benny was calling him.

In the beginning, there had been no love lost between them. First of all, Dean had needed forever to tell him the truth about his new friend, believing that Sam would be against him hanging out with a criminal – which had been true, but still – and then he had put himself on the line by helping him escape the life.

It was exactly the kind of stupid, brave thing Dean loved to do, and after a while, Sam hadn't been able to be angry at him anymore for it. That didn't mean he and Benny had become best friends overnight, however, and if he called Sam, it must mean –

"Benny" he greeted him. There was no point in or time for formalities.

"Sam – have you heard from Dean?"

"No" he replied, immediately concerned, "Why?"

The tense, embarrassed silence that followed did nothing to soothe his fears.

"Benny – "

"He called me. Yesterday. Wanted some information, which I gave him, but he was supposed to call me back, and now he's not answering his – "

"What kind of information?" Sam interrupted him, thinking fast. There was only one kind, really, that Dean could have got from Benny and Benny alone, and Sam was reminded why he had been so upset that his older brother had chosen to befriend a gang member.

"A friend of his is in trouble. You know how he is."

Yes, Sam knew how he was. Knew Dean was the kind of brother who would steal and lie and cheat to get food for him when Dad left them with nothing and yet go hungry for weeks. The kind of friend who would stand up to a career criminal to help out. The kind of man who would go to the end of the world just to help someone in need.

He loved him for it. But sometimes, it got him into trouble.

"And so you told him to go where?" he asked, sounding harsher than he had intended.

He could almost hear Benny flinch on the other end of the line.

"Look, chief, I ain't saying I did the right thing. But if Dean calls and tells me he needs something, I'll sure as hell get it for him. You aren't the only one who worries about him" he answered.

"I know" Sam sighed, any wish to fight leaving him. "Just tell me, please."

"Seems this friend has some gambling debts, so Dean needed to learn who'd know a professional gambler like that. Told him about the Old Man, my old boss – "

"You sent him _where_!?"

No. No way. Even though he didn't like him very much, Sam had never doubted Benny's loyalty and friendship for Dean. He wouldn't –

"He never learned Dean's name, and normally he is more than ready to part with any information for cash, no questions asked. Plus, Dean could handle it."

"You don't know that."

"I do. Dean and I have been through some stuff together he never told you about." Sam swallowed. Dean had never told him the particulars of how he had finally brought Benny to Louisiana, just that it was all over.

"What I am saying is – you should never underestimate Dean, Sam."

"I'm not" he snapped. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He shouldn't get angry. He could do that later, when Dean insisted once again that he absolutely had to help this "friend" Sam didn't even know existed.

Unless –

Was it that Cas fellow?

That Dean had a very apparent crush on?

And who was in debt to a gambler with criminal ties?

Please God no.

"Look, just tell me exactly what happened."

And to no one's surprise it turned out that Dean was a big freaking idiot.

In his defence, he didn't think he'd be the only one who would have forgotten to turn their cell phone back on after they had learned that the man they'd been crushing on was their neighbour old enough to be their grandfather.

But, point was – he'd totally forgotten that he'd turned it to silent before they entered the cabin, which meant that he had over twenty missed calls and a dozen texts.

"Damn it" he cursed as he quickly read through the text messages first.

"What is it?" Cas asked immediately, stepping up to him with his usual disregard for personal space, which come to think of it, he'd shown as an old guy too, but it certainly felt different –

Dean shook himself out of it.

"I forgot to turn my phone back on, Benny couldn't reach me, panicked, and now Sam is freaking out."

"Is that a problem? You and your brother are very close."

"We are, but – look, when I helped Benny, we had this fight, he said some things, I said some things, and we don't ever broach the subject. Ever. And he's now convinced I'm "making the same mistake"" he read out loud from Sam's earliest text, obviously sent in a moment of over protectiveness because he hadn't got hold of him immediately. He huffed.

And no matter what the voice in his head said that sounded annoyingly like Sam, that wasn't hypocritical at all.

"I am sorry. The last thing I intended was to cause problems between you and your brother."

"It's no problem, I'll just call and explain" Dean said, already fearing their talk. Cas sensed that he'd rather be alone and reached out, squeezing his shoulder as he said, "I'll take a shower and change my clothes."

Dean watched him leave with a sinking feeling in his gut. If Cas walking away from him felt that bad, how would it feel –

He concentrated on the other catastrophe at hand and sent Benny a quick text to tell him he was alright and to apologize before he called Sam.

"Dean! Are you alright? What is going on? Benny told me – "

"No need to get your panties in a twist, I am fine, Sammy."

"Clearly" his brother responded sarcastically, "You're just spending your weekend talking to criminals to try and help out a "friend"".

Dean tensed. Sam had used that tone a lot when he had first learned of Benny, and it had immediately put him on edge, just as it did now.

"Yes, Sammy" he said very slowly. "That's what being a friend is like."

Against his usual wished, he hoped that the argument would blow up fast so he wouldn't have to explain. He and Sam would spend a few days cooling off, during which he and Cas could sort everything out, and then they'd clear the air between them.

For a moment, he thought he'd be granted his wish.

"No, that's what being – "

And suddenly, instead of growing loud, Sam became quiet, and Dean knew what that meant, knew he was going to be honest and open about this stuff and possibly some other that he never, ever wanted to talk about.

"I was worried about you" he admitted quietly. Dean was well aware from experience that trying to make him stop would only make Sam more adamant to say it, so he decided to let him prattle on and hopefully ending their talk before it got too uncomfortable.

"I know it hasn't been – I miss you, Dean, and it sucks that we don't see each other often. And then you go and do – I know you want to help, God do I know, but you can't just – what if you'd got hurt?"

"I didn't" he said softly.

"That's not the point." A pause. Then, "This friend – is it Cas?"

"How do you even – "

"You don't have that many friends".

He should probably have felt insulted, but Sam sounded so incredibly sorry for it that he didn't have the heart to.

Well, at least Sam would be relieved when he told him Cas was gone from his life.

"Yes. It's Cas."

"Dean – "

"He's not a bad guy, Sam. He just found himself in this bad situation and I am helping him out a little."

"Talking to Benny's former employer is not helping him out a little."

Did Benny really have to tell him so much? He could have lied.

Of course, this was all the fault of his own stupidity not to check his phone, so he couldn't blame him. But boy, did he wish he didn't have to listen to Sam list all the reasons why this was a bad idea, especially since he could provide a few more. Like the guy soon disappearing from his life again, this time for good.

Well, not completely. He supposed they would still be friends. But how could they go back to what they were before? It was one thing to fantasize a little about how hot your neighbour must have been once upon a time. At least then, it had been a sort of game for Dean, something to pass the time when he was bored. But now that he knew what it was like to kiss Cas –

"Dean? Are you listening?"

While he had been dwelling yet again on how stupid he was being, Sam had prattled on. At least Dean was reasonably sure he had said nothing surprising.

"Yes".

"So you will – " Sam paused. "Be careful. Please."

"You know me – "

"That's why I warned you to be careful."

He snorted. "Please. I can take a few gangsters any day."

"Dean."

Sam's tone warned him.

"I'm fine. Nothing happened. I'll take care, Sammy, I promise."

"And you'll call me every day?"

"Sam – "

"Please. I won't be able to concentrate otherwise."

And now he had him, because if there was something Dean would never do, it was screwing with the education Sam had worked so hard for (well, and if he was being honest, Dean too). So regular check-ins until he had figured this whole thing out was it.

"Alright" he agreed as he was sure Sam had already known he would, the little manipulative shit.

"Thank you, Dean".

"Nothing to thank me for" he said, somewhat angry.

"I just – "

"Yeah, yeah, worried about me, got it."

"I mean it."

Once again, it was softly said, and his anger faded away.

"I know. Promise to be a good boy and look after myself."

And Cas, he thought. But he didn't want to remind Sam of him; at least his little brother had talked himself into forgetting that there was someone else involved.

He should probably have felt relieved, but instead he felt like a criminal when they said their goodbyes and hung up.

It only took him a second to realize this was because he was lying to Sam. True, not exactly lying, just not telling him everything –

Lying. That was called lying too. And it felt very wrong. He'd even told him about Benny (while Sam had forced the information out of him, Dean knew he'd have done it eventually).

Point was, Dean tried not to hide anything from Sam these days, mostly because he had had to do it so many times when they had been children.

He tried to comfort himself with the thought that Sam wouldn't believe the truth anyway. It didn't really work.

Despite everything, Cas found himself whistling as he strolled towards his house. They might have stumbled into a dangerous situation, but they had made it out. And at least he'd get to spend more time with Dean today.

He didn't realize what was happening until he picked up his mail and frowned at the address.

 _James C. Novak._

Why would his credit card company write him under a wrong –

He let the letter drop, his good mood gone.

His name was James. He wasn't called Castiel – no, he was, it was just his middle name, he was James Castiel Novak, and he was eighty-one years old...

Eighty-one or eighty-two? He couldn't say.

His heart hammered in his chest as he tried to remember.

Was he eighty-one or eighty-two years old?

He remembered a worry he had paid little heed to when it had first crossed his mind.

He was starting to _forget_.


	17. Chapter 17

He had just ended his phone call when Cas stormed in. Dean was instantly on alert; his neighbour looked like he had seen a ghost.

"Cas –"

"Don't call me that!"

Dean flinched and Cas – no, James, he reminded himself, _James_ – immediately felt guilty.

"No, that's not – I – Dean, how old am I?"

He frowned. "Eighty-one, you told me a while back."

Ca – James slumped down on a chair, relieved to have an answer.

"I couldn't remember. And I believed Castiel was my real name for a second."

"What?"

"Dean – I think I'm forgetting about my life."

His neighbour stepped up to him.

"Are you sure?"

"I –" James forced himself to calm down. "I'm not" he admitted "because how can I know that I forgot something if I can't remember I knew it in the first place?"

Dean blinked.

"That... actually made sense."

"You won't have to think about it once you pass seventy" he snapped before sighing and burying his face in his hands.

"I'm sorry. I'm upset. I shouldn't take it out on you."

"It's alright. Look... James" he noticed how hesitant Dean was to use his name and felt even worse. "Maybe this whole thing just has you a little messed up. Wouldn't be a surprise."

"No. It wouldn't" he tried to agree, even though he could feel this was not him simply being confused. Growing old, he had learned what it meant to be confused now and then, to forget certain things. This felt different. Wrong. As if his old self was being erased step by step.

"Hey, you listen to me, alright?"

Dean took his hand in his. "We'll figure this out, you hear me?"

"Thank you, Dean."

"Hey, you know me. Always happy to help". Dean grinned at him before his eyes drifted down to James' lips.

James swallowed. Just like Dean, he knew that this was different than in the Impala. Then, they had still been full of adrenaline, and Dean had been confused about his revelation that he was actually his neighbour.

Now, though... he had calmed down considerably since he had come to find Dean. Minus the small panic attack he was helping him master.

He was about to lean in against his better judgement when there was a decisive knock on the door.

Dean pulled away, frowning.

"I don't expect any visitors or packages" he mumbled, more to himself than to Cas. "Who could that be?"

He left the kitchen, and James was once more alone to berate himself. How could he almost let that happen again? Dean had already admitted that he would cause him pain when he was back in his... eighty-one year old body. He didn't need any more kisses to give him false hope.

He had been too busy worrying than to listen to what Dean and his visitor were talking about, but suddenly he called out, "Ahem... Cas!?"

The slight panic in his voice brought Cas to his side immediately. His heart sank when he realized who had rung Dean's bell.

Detective Mills.

Had he given anything away during their (looking back rather ill-advised seeming) talk?

"Mr. Castiel Novak?" she asked. He nodded.

"I'm a friend of your uncle's. He... didn't really seem himself the last time we talked. I wanted to see if he was alright. When he didn't open his door, I thought his neighbour might know... " She studied him worriedly. "I'm sad to hear he isn't."

"Yes" he said, doing his best to appear distraught. "Uncle James is not doing well."

"It must be hard on you. I'm glad to hear that you at least have Dean here. He accompanied your uncle when he translated for us a few days ago."

"He told me."

"He stole quite a few hearts there. Donna is still waiting for you to show up so you can finish your discussion of donuts."

"A wise and very knowledgeable woman" Dean said immediately, causing Cas to smile at him warmly. Dean had such a big heart and he always saw the best in anyone he encountered.

"She was very impressed with your cooking expertise" Detective Mills teased him gently. James wasn't surprised she had a soft spot for Dean as well.

Her gaze wandered from Dean to him, and it was easy to see that she was beginning to suspect something that had been far from her mind when she had last seen the two together.

She handed Cas her card.

"Would you call if there's news?"

"I will" he promised. At least this, he could keep. He would call her himself once this was over and he sounded more like the man he was supposed to be.

"Thank you. I'm sorry for disturbing your Saturday afternoon..."

"No problem" Dean interrupted her. "Always glad to see the city's finest."

"Now, now, young man, tone it down."

"But I can't help myself..."

Detective Mills, to James' surprise, reached out and good-naturedly punched Dean's shoulder before saying goodbye.

"That was easier than I thought it would be" Dean breathed after he'd closed the front door. "Thank God you have your baby blues."

"I'm not the one she flirted with" he grumbled, and dean laughed so loudly that he had to lean against the wall for support.

"Cas, are you – are you jealous? Of Detective Mills? She's smart. She knows I'm taken."

And then they were staring at one another again, Dean's last words hanging between them, until he mumbled something, pushed himself off the wall and returned to the kitchen.

Now it was Cas' turn to look for support.

 _I'm taken._

Dean went back to making lunch, because what else could he do? He'd just made a colossal idiot of himself. They both knew this couldn't last. They weren't even in a relationship. The kiss in the car could easily have been nothing but adrenaline, and just now they had been interrupted before they could take things further.

It was a good thing. Why pretend? Cas would soon be back to normal – James, his nice old neighbour, whom Dean couldn't touch or hold or lo –

It sucked, but he would have to live with it.

But instead of accepting that like a reasonable human being, he had to tell Cas that he was taken. And now things were awkward.

This wasn't even Dean's style. He didn't fall quickly or easily for someone, but somehow Cas had slipped past his defences and no matter what he did, he couldn't get him out of his head.

He still hadn't returned to the kitchen. Dean figured he wanted some time alone.

Because right now, Dean was useful to him. They were friends, and Dean could help him, and he would be the first t admit that he was easy on the eyes.

Plus, Cas surely hadn't gotten any in ages. So he had cuddled up and smooched Dean a little. There was no reason to think he felt about this as strongly as Dean did. After all, if he had, certainly it would have been more difficult for him to decide to go back to being old –

No. That wasn't true. Cas would always do the right thing. Always.

Still, he would have been more conflicted aboujt it if Dean meant as much to him as the nerdy blue-eyed man had come to mean to him.

So he needed to stop this. No more stealing kisses, no more invading Cas' personal space. Get it over with. End the madness and return to his usual, comfortable life.

He wondered if he would see James and Cas as different persons when he met his neighbour again. Was he doing that now? It certainly hadn't felt like kissing his grandfather when he'd laid one on kiss in the car. But there were so many small habits of his, his head tilting, the squinting, even his low chuckle in the back of his throat, that made it clear Dean was talking to James.

It was all so damn confusing.

He wished he could have told Sammy the truth, but at best his brother would think him overworked and at worst he would call for the men with the straightjackets.

That reminded him. He still had to call Benny, just to let him hear his voice. He'd sent him a text, but if it had been the other way around, he would have wanted more too. He wasn't mad. He knew why Benny had called Sam.

In truth, the whole thing with the Old Man had not been the best course of action.

But Cas was right. Their time might very well be (and part of Dean, to his everlasting shame, still kind of hope it was) running out. James had got lucky and lived long. Langleben might just crumble to dust –

If he wasn't behind the whole thing, and Dean still suspected he was. After all, the old man might very well have won years from him –

On the other hand, who said he'd taken them from Langleben? Maybe there were others out there who had fun de-aging and killing others by playing around with their lifespan.

But as much as Dean just wanted to make Cas believe that, he couldn't. And he was well aware that he couldn't be completely sure, either. He might not be the best man – to be honest, he was ninety percent crap – but not even Dean Winchester could just ignore that a man might be dying a pretty horrible death if they didn't find him.

Cas was still in the hallway.

 _I'm taken._

Dean had said he was taken.

And he had looked at James as he did so.

What had he done? He had known from the first that this was, could only ever be temporary. He had never intended to "make a move" on Dean. He had never intended to touch or kiss him in an inappropriate way, he had never wished to make Dean unhappy, Dean, the beautiful man who had only ever been good to him.

When had things become so complicated?

A rhetorical question, really. He couldn't think of a single moment of this that hadn't been complicated. He would have hoped that his admission of the truth would do something – maybe stop Dean from wanting him, or... make him stop touching him like this, making him wish for things that would never come to pass.

He had been foolish. Dean always put his hart on the line, always gave his all.

And then of course there was the problem that Cas didn't want him to draw back –

 _James, he scolded himself. Your name is James. You are eighty-one years old, or you will be soon again anyway, and Dean's not yours. He is never going to be. Stop pretending._

It was easier said than done when he entered the kitchen and found Dean at the stove again. He immediately began wondering whether anyone had ever cooked for Dean, cared for him, looked after him when he had had a bad day...

 _Castiel. Stop pretending._

 _No. James_ , he corrected himself again. It was so easy, being Castiel. Being young. Being with Dean.

"So I guess we dealt with Officer Mills for the moment" Dean finally began. "I hope she doesn't have the idea to check with the hospital."

"She trusts you" Cas said immediately.

"She trusts you, too" Dean replied. "Gotta say, you were much less nervous talking to her than you were when you first met me. Well, as young you, anyway. Are you getting used to lying or..."

He trailed off, clearly worried.

"I don't know" James admitted. "I have no idea if it's me or... me."

He paused. Dean chuckled.

"That sentence got away from you."

"It did. I'm just... concerned."

"Panicked" would have been a better way to describe it, but he didn't want to give Dean any more reasons to –

Too late. The wonderful man of course immediately put the wooden spoon away to comfort him.

"Cas – " he shook his head. "James – "

"I told you; you can call me Cas."

He didn't know what made him say it.

Dean sighed, and he looked away.

"I'd love to, but I don't think that's gonna cut it." Dean's smile didn't reach his eyes.

"I'm pretty stupid, but I'd say Detective Mills' visit was a reality check, right?"

He figured since they'd already had their share of heart-to-heart talk, he might as well tell it how it was.

Cas – James nodded.

That was it, then.


	18. Chapter 18

Good thing the officer had dropped by when she had, Dean told himself as they ate lunch in silence.

At least he was trying to make himself believe it. Because yes, he had been about to kiss him again, just like that, and he'd wanted to. He still wanted to. This... attraction between them (he refused to call it anything else) was scary in its intensity, really.

But he knew it was a dumb idea, and that they would have to do something, anything, to find Langleben soon.

"So" he started, determined to act like the friend he should be, not the helpless schoolboy with a crush he apparently was. "I guess we'll have to do legwork on this one. I know how to work bars; you can stay here and – "

"I'm not going to sit here and wait quietly while you are working on fixing my mistakes, Dean."

"It wasn't a mistake, Ca- James". They both pretended they didn't notice Dean's slip-up.

"You were being nice. You were only talking to the guy to do Officer Mills a favour to begin with."

"That is not the point – "

"You didn't even know what was going on. You are not responsible for what happened. You said he folded! He practically gave those years to you!"

In a way, Dean was right. Langleben had folded. But Cas had still no way of knowing that he had even known what was going on. Perhaps the cards themselves had been enchanted, who knew?

Even now, it might already be too late and he might have condemned an innocent person to death. Dean had pointed out earlier that he was a criminal at best; but James Novak had always been against the death penalty, and he wouldn't start supporting it now because he could benefit from it.

Langleben might already be dead, and the day could come that he wouldn't even remember he was the cause of it.

And in his worry and fear, he lashed out at the one person who had helped him since the moment they met.

"So what am I supposed to do? Just sit here and wait until I forget everything and stay with you? That's what you want, isn't it?"

Dean took a step back; for one second, and one second only, Cas saw pain in his eyes, then he turned around and spat, "Get out."

"Dean – "

"Get. Out."

He wanted to apologize. He wanted to hold Dean close.

He left.

Dean slumped against the kitchen counter as soon as he heard the front door close behind Ca – James. Their dirty dishes still lay in the sink, and he absent-mindedly began to wash them.

 _That's what you want, isn't it?_

His neighbour's words kept repeating in his mind.

The worst part was that they were true. Of course he wanted him to stay like this, young and available. Of course he wanted him to stay with him.

Dean Winchester had always been a stupid, selfish son of a bitch and he had once again proven that he was.

No wonder James had seen right through him. Maybe it was for the best if he looked on his own after all. All Dean could do was screw it all up –

But no. He couldn't just let him run around looking for this guy. God knew what could happen.

But he doubted James would want his help after this.

He could still find the guy, though.

C – James would probably stumble around helplessly, probably not even find the bars gamblers and lowlifes preferred. So he'd do his thing and Dean would go on his own.

Then he'd do his thing, find Langleben, bring him to James and be hopefully forgiven so they could at least salvage their friendship which Dean had done his outmost to fuck up ever since James had opened the door for him.

He sighed. Maybe this was all for the best.

If he had learned anything, it was that far away from him was the best place if one wanted to live a reasonably happy life.

James cursed himself again and again as he walked back to his house. He hadn't bothered putting on his coat; he welcomed the cold biting into his skin, distracting him from their fight.

Half an hour ago, they had been about to kiss again. Now he didn't even know if they were still friends.

How could he have said that? Of course Dean didn't want anyone to die just to keep him. Dean was such a good, selfless man; he had offered him his help long before he'd known who he was; and he had not even been angry that he had lied to him.

And James had dared to accuse him of wishing him to stay like this, all else be damned.

Dean had been perfectly right in telling him to go. James should never have involved him at all. Why should Dean be the one to sort out his problems? He could deal with them himself.

And then, once it was over and he was old again, he could try and apologize and forget what it felt like to have this man in his arms.

Dean wanted to call Sam, but knew it wasn't a good idea. Sam was certainly still upset with him, and he knew from experience that he should let him simmer a few more hours before he tried to make contact.

Charlie – well, he knew Charlie. And she had a way of dragging every little scrap of the truth out of him. And that meant that very soon he'd get a visit from a freaked out redhead screaming about magic and age spells and, if he was particularly lucky, soulmates and meant-to-be and don't-you-see-why-this-has-happened-deans, and he really didn't want to deal with that at the moment.

So Benny it was.

"Good to hear from you, brother" he immediately said when he picked up. "I really didn't want to tell Sam, but – "

"It's okay. I understand." If it had been the other way around, he probably wouldn't even have tried to call Benny's extended family. He would've sat in Baby on the way to Louisiana in a heartbeat.

"But next time I come visit, there better be pecan pie."

"There will be, I can guarantee that. So why are you calling?"

It always surprised him how well Benny knew him.

"It's complicated."

"Ah". Benny didn't say more, and he didn't have to. Of course he immediately knew what was up. "Lover's quarrel?"

"I –" No. He couldn't call it that. James and him were not lovers. They had kissed a few times, and it certainly didn't seem like they would again.

"Like I said. It's complicated. We just – I said things. He said... things."

"As willing to talk about your feelings as always" Benny remarked.

"Shut up" Dean mumbled, well aware that Benny was remembering the pretty awkward scene when he had tried to thank Dean for helping him while he had been as adamant not to allow it under any circumstance.

"That's not all. It's – Benny, it's – "

"Complicated?"

"You're not helping at all."

"I don't know what's going on, chief. How am I supposed to?"

"I know – " But how was he supposed to explain? He couldn't tell Benny that his magically rejuvenated neighbour had just kind of broken up with him, but not really because this was never going to go anywhere in the first place, because he had finally realized what a pathetic piece of crap Dean was.

Apart from – anything, really, Benny had always had a problem with Dean "putting himself down."

He called it "being realistic" but Benny wouldn't want to hear that either.

"So no chance to get back on track?"

"Don't think so."

Benny hummed, which he knew very well would only annoy Dean.

"Sorry, brother. It's just I have lived through too many panicked talks after you were convinced that this time, you had chased Sam away, and he's still sticking around."

As far as living in another state could be called sticking around. But Benny was right there. Sam put up with him. But Sam was his brother, and he loved him.

James though –

Who was he kidding? James had been confused, his hormones probably going haywire after having been called back from retirement, and Dean had been there. So why should he ever contemplate making up with Dean?

Maybe later. When this was over and done with, when the barrier of fifty years was there to remind Dean that he wasn't meant to have some things.

"Yeah, well..." he said, more to placate Benny than for any other reason. "We'll see."

"I hope you do. Don't make me return to Kansas."

Dean swallowed, suddenly reminded why they were talking in the first place.

"Yeah, best you stay away."

"Dean?"

"Don't worry, I didn't mention your name."

"That's not my primary concern at the moment."

"They don't know ours either."

"What happened?"

Dean told him in as few words as possible.

"Sounds as if it was a close call."

"You should have seen Cas" he said before he could stop himself. "Guy's got some insane moves. Think the old man is going to come look for us?"

"It wouldn't be his style. As long as you don't do anything stupid, he shouldn't either."

"Great." At least one thing to worry less about.

Dean bit his lip. Now that they were on the topic, there was something he wanted to ask. The problem was how to go about it so he didn't sound like he was insane.

"Say, the guy looks way too young to be a mobster."

"Yes."

Benny was oddly calm as he answered, which immediately convinced Dean there was more to it.

"You know anything about him?"

"He's a weird one, is all I can tell. When he got talking – and that happened rarely enough – he'd tell us he came from an old mob family that had emigrated here from Italy, and now and then he'd even pull out pictures of his father and grandfather, with that weird unsettling smile of his. To be honest, they freaked me out, brother."

And Dean could easily guess why.

"These pictures, they looked just like him."

He had been right. There had been something fishy about this guy – well, fishier than his profession would already have made him – and he knew all about the magical rejuvenation thing.

Sadly, that meant the safest place to be was as far away from him as possible. Benny was right; they should keep quiet. Otherwise, if the old man found out someone was prattling on about his secret –

"So that's why you were so reluctant to tell me about him?"

"Apart from generally being against the idea of you meeting any kind of criminal – "

"i don't know, it worked out okay in the past" he pointed out.

And of course Benny had to take him seriously for once.

"Dean, we both know it was a bad idea to get involved with my whole mess in the first place."

He waited for him to continue. He did.

"I think you should take a step back. You haven't known the guy for long, and it's his problem."

"Have you met me?" he asked in an attempt to brighten the mood.

"True. Just, stay down and stay careful."

"I will. Also, promise I'll call you more often."

"You better. So long, chief."

They ended their call and Dean let what he had learned sink in.

If he was right, then the old man had somehow found out about – magic or whatever he called it that could take years off your back and had used it. Probably more than once.

If he was right. But either way, he would have to tell Cas. He couldn't just let the guy prowl about if there were others who knew and who were eager no one else should.

He sighed.

 _Time to grow up, Winchester._


	19. Chapter 19

Dean knew he would have to talk to James sooner rather than later. He was right; someone had to carry those years that he had magically got rid off; and whether or not this person was a criminal, he knew James well enough to feel that he would never be able to live with that.

So he would run right into danger if he believed he could make things better. True, he was one of the smartest people Dean had ever met, but that didn't mean he knew how to handle crazy magicians who had built an underground market with... ages or whatever.

Dean didn't, either, but at least he could watch his back.

About the other thing –

Well, that was over and done with. He reminded himself of the fight they had had.

James was pacing up and down his living room, the youthful energy he had still not grown used (and shouldn't, definitely shouldn't) running through him, biting, clawing at him. He remembered the fight again and again.

How could he have said those words to Dean? How could he?

Yes, it was definitely better that he would do this alone from now on. He would find Patrick Langleben, and he would return to his real age, and he would put this all behind him.

A knock on his door set his heart razing, and he frowned. Of course he hoped it would be Dean – he would like to salvage their friendship – but he really shouldn't have that reaction to him. Not anymore. He never should have allowed things to go so far in the first place.

Dean knocked again and he hastened to open him.

"Dude" he started, brushing past him. "Remember in the car? When I had this whole theory that other people might know? Turns out I was right. I talked to Benny, and he said the Old Man should be very old – well, dust anyway, probably – but doesn't matter – so we have to – "

"Dean" he interrupted him. "What – "

"I talked to Benny."

"So you said" he answered calmly. He didn't know what was going on, but Dean was obviously excited.

Dean forced himself to calm down. He had tried to get their fight and everything else out of his head by focusing on what Benny told him and probably looked a little crazy because of that.

He slowly explained what he had learned.

"So you really think..."

"Cas, if a guy who saw him every day for three years thinks there's something weird about him, there is."

They both noticed his mistake at the same time. Dean looked away.

"Then we have to go back – "

"What?!" Dean turned his head and stared at him. "We can't."

"But you just said – "

"He sent his guys on us! If you weren't some crazy karate master, we would be done for!"

"You pack a rather mean punch yourself, if I remember correctly."

"That's not the point! We can't go back there!"

Dean knew James had a point, of course; and to his surprise, he wasn't even that surprised. It was as if his subconscious had already been at work, because there was a fully fleshed-out plan in his mind.

Yes, right now, despite his reluctance to go there, the Old Man was their best bet on finding Langleben, or at least someone who knew what this was all about.

But that didn't mean they had to risk both of their lives.

Dean was worth precious little as it was, and he knew this world. Well, without the magic, but he still knew his way around.

James had lived his whole life away from all of that. And they had already been attacked once.

He'd go on his own. James would probably be furious, but at least he'd be safe. And Dean planned to be back quickly anyway.

But still...

He couldn't let him know. James would just insist on accompanying him, and Dean really didn't fancy knocking the guy out.

So lying it was.

He sighed and tried to look like he was giving in. God knows he had pretended to do that often enough, when Dad had told him to mind his own business about how much he drank and Dean agreed and later dumped the whiskey down the drain before telling Dad that no, there weren't any more bottles and yes, he was absolutely sure.

"I know we have to go back. That doesn't mean I like it."

"Dean, you don't have to help me. I would understand if..."

"Like Hell I'm gonna let you do this alone. This is dangerous."

"Then it's dangerous for you too – "

"Yeah, well – " Dean shrugged his shoulders. "Not much to cry over."

Cas knew that their fight had to play a part in how indifferent Dean felt at the prospect of harm coming to him, but he was also aware that his self-worth had never been particularly high. He had noticed that early on in their friendship, when Dean had listened to his stories of life as a teacher and then explained that he "never had the brains for college", which James still disagreed with.

He wished Dean would see sense and let him do this on his own, but his neighbour was nothing if not stubborn.

At least he was determined to keep an eye on him. He wouldn't allow him to throw himself into danger for him.

Thankfully he had proven that he could still fight, decades-old muscle memory kicking in and making it possible to defend both their lives. That was something, but he still didn't relish the thought of going back to the Old Man, even if he could lead to –

Lead to whom?

Langleben, he remembered after a moment of terrible confusion that Dean had (happily) overlooked because apparently it had lasted for only a second.

It had felt longer. Much longer.

They had to move fast.

"Fine. First thing tomorrow, we dip right into the world of scumbags" Dean began. "Still, I don't think it would be wise to go knocking on the Old Man's door again."

James nodded.

"But since it seems that there is a kind of – well, people know. That's the point. Apparently people walk around and get rejuvenated when they want. So we really have to get into the scene." He shot him a glare. "And this time, I'm gonna tell you exactly what to do, and you'll do it. No straying from the directions".

He nodded again. There was little else he could do. He knew the Old Man had grown suspicious of him quickly, and whether Cas liked it or not, Dean knew how to talk to these people.

Dean was relieved. Apparently he was still a good enough liar to make James believe he'd actually put him at risk again.

Although maybe that was just the kind of person James really believed he was, deep down.

He swallowed and looked away again, busying himself with assessing the living room he'd come to know almost as well as his own.

"Hey, James? What happened to the table?" he asked when he saw that the small couch table was pushed up against the wall and halfway behind one of the innumerable book shelves that dominated almost every room in the house.

Cas looked away guiltily as his shoulder slumped. Pacing wasn't all he had done. When he had returned home from their fight, frustrated and angry at himself, looking for something to do, he had started to rearrange the living room without a second thought, because he would have to get rid of this hideous couch –

When he had realized what he was doing, and that he had been very satisfied with the arrangement of the furniture for over a decade, he had stopped moving it and started pacing instead.

"I didn't like the way it looked in front of the couch."

Dean chuckled. "Have to agree with you there."

"You never said anything" he replied petulantly, than shook his head. "Of course you didn't" he mumbled, bringing his hand up to rub his forehead, "because it would have been impolite because I was your elderly neighbour – _am_ , am your elderly neighbour, and I know what I like because I am eighty-one, not thirty-one, but it gets hard to remember, it gets so hard – "

Suddenly there were strong arms around him, pulling him into a warm chest.

"Breathe, Cas, breathe."

This time neither of them noticed the mistake, as James was finally becoming aware that he had indeed begun to hyperventilate. He made the effort to calm down while Dean slowly stroked up and down his back, and he couldn't resist the temptation to burry himself deeper in his arms. He would have to step away soon; it had become clear that this would only hurt them in the long run; but for a moment, he could find peace again in the arms of the man he could have loved if fate had been kinder to them.


	20. Chapter 20

Once Cas had calmed down, Dean stepped away. He had felt him burrowing closer, but he had been freaking out, so he was sure as Hell not going to read anything into that.

"Alright, we gotta work this out" he pointed at Cas.

"What do you mean?" He frowned and Dean blushed as he became aware of the implications.

"We're going to sit down, and we're going to figure out what exactly you are forgetting, or pushing away subconsciously, or whatever. And you'll write it down."

"I hadn't thought of that before" James admitted.

"That's 'cause you were having a panic attack. Anyone would be. So – "

Once again, James was struck how level-headed and practical Dean could be, but he didn't voice his appreciation for his neighbour's idea. He was somewhat ashamed he hadn't had the same. He had after all written several instruction books, and there were the beginnings of half a dozen novels in his head that he had never got to write.

"We'll start slow" Dean said. "Date of birth?"

"August 13, 1935", he answered immediately, glad that he didn't find it difficult to remember and wrote it down.

"Place of birth?"

"Pontiac, Illinois."

"Really?"

"Yes, why?"

"No reason. Just never knew."

"The family scattered eventually. When we met up, we used to joke we were too many siblings to keep an eye on." He smiled sadly.

Dean cleared his throat, jolting him out of memories of people long gone.

"Who was your favourite sibling?"

Once upon a time, he would have shield away from the question, declaring that there was no such thing. A lifetime had taught him better.

"Gabriel" he admitted. "He was loud and obnoxious, and sometimes I couldn't stand him, but –"

"He was always there for you" Dean finished and he knew he was thinking of his own brother.

"Yes" he said softly. "He was always playing pranks on everyone, and if someone reciprocated, he laughed it off. He settled down later and became a district attorney. He was very concerned about justice – about people getting their "just desserts". Literally and figuratively."

"So he had a sweet tooth?"

"You can say that again. In his fifties, doctors told him he should cut back if he wanted to live a long life. He decided a life without sweets wasn't worth living. He made it to seventy-one regardless."

"I'm sorry" Dean murmured, reaching out to take his hand than thinking better of it.

"It was over ten years ago" he told him.

"Still must have been hard."

James nodded. "He was the last one – we were always a rather... unlucky family."

There were of course the nieces and nephews and distant cousins he had never really had the greatest relationship with – mostly because the siblings he'd loved the most had never had children – but he had been alone until a young man knocked on his door and told him he'd cleared his drive.

"Looks like you're making up for that" Dean commented with a one-sided grin and James rolled his eyes at his bad joke, which was clearly what he had intended.

To be honest, Gabriel would probably have taken all of this as a joke.

Plus he would already have made several rude comments.

And propositioned Dean, no matter the age difference.

Suddenly, James was rather content that Gabriel wasn't here right now, although he could have used his guidance. He had always known his way around the world, far better than the awkward interpreter who had found his spot rather late in life.

With Dean's help, he wrote down the cornerstones of his life as he remembered them.

"Dude, that thing with the Svengali master and the orgy was true?"

"It was the Seventies. It was not the only... questionable behaviour I walked in during this decade. My cousin Balthazar happened to be very creative".

"And that's why you were never close to your family" Dean stated. "Hard to imagine you all on the hippie trail."

"Actually..." he trailed off, blushing as he remembered participating in consummating... something (even Gabriel and Balthazar later hadn't been sure what it was) and following a bee around a garden as if it was the most fascinating object in the universe.

In his defence, he never got around to have the bee hives he'd wished for since he was a child.

He couldn't keep doing this, remembering all the things he hadn't done. It would only lead to wishing that he could do them now, just grab Dean and leave and live.

And that wouldn't do.

"Dude, no way" Dean brought him out of his thoughts. "I have seen old pictures of you. In the suit. You looked like a tax accountant."

"I looked like a professional. There's a difference."

"If you say so" Dean chuckled. "But man, the Seventies sound weird."

"They weren't really. Well, I will admit there was some "weird stuff", as I have just described – what is it?" he asked when Dean laughed again under his breath.

"Sorry. It's just the air quote thing. It's still cute."

Now, when they had realized just how hopeless it would be to pursue any kind of relationship was not the moment to blush fiercely at a compliment, so of course Cas' treacherous face decided to do just that.

"Sorry" Dean began to apologize immediately. "I mean – I flirt by default. I didn't want to. No – I did. I always do. But I can't, so I didn't want to. No, wait – "

Cas wanted to kiss him to make him stop talking, but he couldn't. Just like Dean had said, they were not supposed to. He looked down at his list to give Dean some time to collect himself.

It was just so unfair. Why did he live next to someone so incredibly attractive, inside and out?

Dean had made the decision to stop talking and start fidgeting. James recognized the behaviour; the few times they had touched upon the topic of his family Dean had acted just like that. He was feeling uncomfortable, and James ached to make him feel better, but he couldn't.

He knew it had been a weak moment in which he had made Dean admit that this, that all of this would eventually hurt him. If he had not been utterly confused by his confession and still running on adrenaline from their fight, he would never have told Cas. He would have swallowed down, hidden his feelings until he couldn't anymore.

But now he knew, and he had to make this easy for Dean. Langleben might have been a criminal – true, it didn't matter, James had to set this right no matter what, but still – yet Dean... Dean was one of the best men he had met in his life, and he didn't deserve more pain.

"I think this is really going to help me. Thank you, Dean; it was a wonderful idea."

"Just trying my best" he mumbled, still staring out of the window. "Oh, and for the record, I think you shouldn't move any more furniture around."

"I know" he sighed, even though he still didn't like the look of his couch. He probably would again once this was over. As soon as he had reached sixty, he had lost the small interest in interior decoration he had ever had after the first excitement of finally living alone, and the couch was comfy. So why should he care that it didn't look as good as his younger self would have wished?

He sighed. At least he had the list now. Something to remember where he belonged, who he was.

Cas had calmed down. Good. Although now he could perhaps see through Dean's bullshit. Whatever; now he only had to make it past bedtime and then leave quietly.

He suddenly realized that he had assumed they would be going to bed together.

 _Nice one. Why don't you just try and drag him off to the bedroom? I'm sure that would go over well._

He cleared his throat.

"But let's wait 'till tomorrow for searching among the other douche bags, yeah? I think we could both use some rest after that."

In truth, he only thought that James could need it. Even taking their fight and his freak-out into account, he looked a little spooked. Dean, on the other hand, had dealt with worse assholes than the Old Man several times in his life; he was more than ready to go out that night.

Something was off. James didn't really know how or why or what, but something was off with the way Dean was acting. For one, his young friend could be awfully stubborn if he wanted to be, and yet he had been nothing but accommodating since he had come to tell him about Benny's suspicions.

Maybe he was more shaken by their encounter with the Old Man and his gang than he had let on. But Dean had always struck him as exceptionally strong, and with the upbringing he seemed to have had, there was sadly reason to suppose that he was used to such meetings. So what was going on?

He found that he disliked Dean keeping things from him just as much as he had disliked keeping things from Dean.

He wanted to ask, but doubted that he would get a truthful answer. If Dean was determined not to tell him, there was no way to make him.

Sadly that did nothing to reassure Cas.

What if Dean was still angry, or at least resented him for what he had said? He had a right to, of course –

He shook his head and concentrated on the surprising peaceful afternoon and evening Dean seemed determined to enjoy.

It was dangerous, sitting so close to him watching television again, leaning closer as he laughed. It was dangerous to forget for a while that this was not permanent, and that Dean would never be his.

He did it anyway.

Cas almost moved to kiss him good night when they said their goodbyes. Almost. He held himself back though.

Later, in the bathroom, he could have sworn he heard something outside, but couldn't figure out what.

He was almost asleep when he remembered just what that noise had been. In his bathroom, he had barely been able to identify it, but thinking about it now –

He was dressed and out of the house before he had even made the conscious decision. He ran to Dean's –

And stared at the empty spot of the car whose engine he'd heard loud and clear.

"Damn it, Dean!"


	21. Chapter 21

James had accepted Dean's explanations easily, and he didn't know if he should be worried. After all, the guy had been sharp even as a eighty-one year old, so why would he trust him now?

There was of course the obvious explanation which sucked way more than he liked to admit because it reminded him of what he couldn't have.

This whole thing was indeed a mess.

Well. He'd just get out of here, find Langleben, make him return James to his original state (and that was another thing – he was certain that he could actually make him do it, whereas the old teacher would probably start discussing the guy's motives or something – wait, if Langleben was even in on the action – oh, who was he kidding. If there was one thing Dean Winchester had, it was good instincts, and they had told him from the first that there was something fishy about the whole thing).

He carefully studied James the whoel evening, but there was no way of telling whether he was forgetting more stuff or not. He certainly still had all the mannerisms Dean had come to know so well – the head tilt, the squint, how his eyes crinkled when he was amused.

 _God he was beautiful._

Dean had never thought he would miss the days when he had not yet admitted to himself that he was into guys too, when his father's words still came back to haunt him regularly. But he really could have used some reality check about now.

Technically he knew; knew he couldn't touch, he couldn't have; but the problem was that, on a different level, he could have all of this, if he only reached out –

No. He remembered their fight. James might be sorry for what he had said, but he had certainly been thinking these things for quite a while. Dean knew who he was, and there was no reason for James to be interested in him at all aside from hormones and confusion at being young again.

Still, this, spending the evening together – it was nice. It was what Dean would have imagined a real relationship to be like –

Stop it right there. He's going to be old gain soon, and it's not as if you really had a chance, not even if you wanted to.

To be honest, the mystery of why James had never got married nor had children was even farer from solved now that he had seen what he was like in his prime. Seriously, who wouldn't be into that? How had James Novak ever ended up lonely enough to befriend Dean?

He supposed it didn't matter in the end. But still...

He concentrated on finding Langleben. Best bet was the bar nearest to a casino. It shouldn't be difficult to work out where to go from there.

Of course he had to make everything uncomfortable aain while they were saying good night with staring at Cas' lips. Wasn't his fault that the kisses they had shared had been pretty unforgettable, but it was certainly wrong to still stare at the guy as if he wanted tod evour him alive.

It was with a sigh of relief that he finally walked up to Baby and gently toucher her hood.

He'd always felt better just by driving.

Not for the first time, Cas thought sadly of the Lincoln he had driven for years and finally let go when he considered himself too old for driving. Ironic, considering his current predicament.

He would have to call a taxi. With a quickness that he'd thought long lost, he remembered where he had left the calling card of one driver who'd driven him to the police station two years ago and who had quickly become his favourite, since he often worked at night and was always eager to help.

He didn't even think about how this must look like as he called, but naturally Inias gave him a strange look the second he stepped into his taxi.

"That's Mr. Novak's house."

"I'm his nephew" he lied with alarming ease, "He's in the hospital."

"Oh. Sorry to hear that. He was always so nice. So I suppose I should bring you there?"

"Yes, please" he replied quickly.

He had quickly surmised that Dean was most likely headed to the nearest casino – or rather, the places around it where one turned to forget one's losses. He might nevber have moved in the circles Langleben liked to frequent, but he was able to deduce where he would most likely be – or at least where he could find someone who knew him. And of course he knew Dean well enough to figure out that he'd tackle the nearest and then slowly work his way through town. He'd probably already made plans to explain either his failure or his success tomorrow.

Naturally, he should have headed there as well – but after Inias' question he had realized in a flash that it was best to pretend. After all, Detective Mills had already come by, and she was dreadfully smart...

Plus, he had googled (and the part of him that wasn't worried at him picking up the knowledge how so quickly was even proud of himself for it) all the addresses he needed to go to. Once he was in town, he could handle himself.

To his shame, Inias declined his fare as he got out of the car.

"Your uncle's been a good client. Tell him I hope he gets better soon, yeah?"

"I will" he promised, feeling a familiar guilt as he watched the taxi drive safely away before he crossed the street and was on his way.

Memories of many bars liked this almost overwhelmed Dean as he stepped in the first. None of them were good; most consisted of either cheating at pool or cards to win enough money to feed Sam or trying to get Dad to come home under the pitying glances of the bartender.

He swallowed and walked up to the bar.

"One whiskey, please. Make it double."

How often had he said these words later, all grown up, after Dad had sent him on his way? When he had yet felt too restless to settle?

Thank God he'd eventually convinced himself to see Sammy. He had set his head straight, and so Dean had ended up a house owner with a job he loved.

Just being here again felt wrong somehow. He reminded himself he was doing to for Cas and smiled at the bartender.

A few years ago, she would have been exactly his type. Now, he thought that her eyes were the wrong shade of blue.

"Rough night?" she asked.

Dean knew better than to pretend that he was one of the rundown creatures he could see slinking around in the shadows; he was well aware that he looked too good for that after all this time, thank God, so he just shrugged his shoulders.

"What can I say? Some you win..."

He hoped he was giving the impression he was going for, just someone who liked to relax at a game now and then. She'd be chattier if she figured he could be trusted.

"You're right there". She eyed him appreciatively and Dean gave her his best flirty grin.

"Don't see much like you around here."

"I bet".

She rolled her eyes at him. He recognized the signs; in an earlier time, she would have been going hoem with him after her shift ended.

"I meant relaxed types, you know, not having spent their last money on a game they couldn't win because they had to."

"Nah, I got better ways to spend my hard-earned money."

"I can see that."

"That doesn't sound like the right way to sell more drinks."

"As if I need to advertise. They see the lights and they come right up to the bar."

"College student?" he guessed.

"Did my cheerful attitude give me away?"

He shrugged. "Don't see much like you around here, is all."

"Nice" she chuckled.

"So, how many assorted loosers did you already serve a drink to today since you were so taken by me the second I stepped in?"

"You wish. But frankly, too many. There always is."

"Drink on me?"

Someone else stepped up to the bar. She grinned at him.

"Anytime. Could take a while, though."

"No hurry."

She might well have seen something without realizing what she was actually witnessing, and this gave him ample opportunity to check out the other patrons. He made his way to the pool table. He probably would have been better off with one of the drinkers that were hiding in the corners, but they'd probably not speak to him. He'd rather try someone who was high off a win.

Cas did his best not to look angry as he strolled into the third bar that night. He had no idea where Dean was, whether he was in danger, and of course his phone was still off.

He hadn't ecperiecned true, righteous rage since he ahd turned young. Until now. Rager fuelled by worry and... other things. His blood was pumping loudly in his ears, and he felt that, no matter who should happen to attack him now, he could easily take them down.

Sadly this also meant that most people wouldn't talk to him. The bartender of the last bar had cheerfully informed him that he should "turn that smile upside down if you want to score". That, of course, had only caused him to frown more than before.

He and Dean should have gone together. Everyone loved Dean, and Cas couldn't blame them. He was probably off charming some barmaid and getting all the information they needed...

He didn't dare examine whether he was more upset that Dean had gone off on his own or at the possibility that he was flirting with someone else right now. All that had to stay in the past.

"Fellows, mind if I join?" Dean asked cockily. One of the man who were playing looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

"Be my guest kid, but I'm warning you; I'm on a lucky streak."

 _Your first in a while_ , Dean thought. The guy was wearing old jeans, a threadbare t-shirt and a leather jacket that had seen better days. But most of all, there was the relentless fury of the gambler in his eyes that would throw him from this streak right into bad luck and bad again, and so on until a sad ending in a lousy motel room.

A fate that might have been Dean's if not for his brother and hsi friends.

All in all, he was exactly what Dean had been looking for. Searching his whole life for a system, knowing every trick, having tried to ebnd every rule.

Hearing everything going on in his own little world.

"We'll see, shall we?" he asked, playing it cool. If he allowed the guy to beat him, he'd just end up being loud and proud; if he taught him a lesson, he'd run away, tail between his legs.

Only a small sum it was then, and he had to draw it out long enough so that it would ultimately count as an achievement that his adversary had held out as long as he did; because someone like him would never tell anything to someone he had beaten.

Dean set to work.

Cas had finally calmed down somewhat as he stopped in front of yet another bar. He hadn't found any clues, but he might well have overlooked them. Dean was right, he had never really crossed path with men like these, aside from when he had translated for them during interrogations; what could he hope to achieve?

His shoulders sagged with relief when the first thing he saw in the bar was Dean, sitting next to a man in his mid-forties, talking animatedly.

His first impulse was to join them, but they seemed to be in the middle of a very important conversation. Dean might very well be on the something.

He did his best not to look their way as he quickly got a beer; he was discreetly searching for a place from where he could see them well when the bartender commented, "Should have known."

"What?" he asked, confused.

"All the hot ones – they're either taken or gay. Don't worry, green eyes over there hasn't done anything besides a little friendly flirting".

He blushed, looking away, his gaze landing on Dean as a matter of course; their eyes met, and the young man at least looked ashamed before concentrating back on his conversation.

Cas sighed. "It's complicated" he told the bartender.

She just shrugged.

"It usually is."


	22. Chapter 22

He didn't doubt that Cas would have something to say to him when they met again, but Dean had had the right instinct. It hadn't taken him long to find a hellhole where all the losers came to play and to hone in on one who clearly spent most of his time throwing away what little money he had. It had been easy to goat him into a game of poker.

Once they had battled for an hour and he had finally beaten him closely enough that "Tom, just Tom, mate" was more impressed than angry, the guy started talking.

"I'm telling you, there's a few other places around here you can have a good game if you want."

"Oh? You mean turn up the heat?" Dean smirked. "I like the sound of that."

"Don't know if it's anything for you. You'd stick out like a sore thumb, a clean cut guy like you."

While he would have normally taken that as a compliment, Dean tried to look affronted.

"Hey, I know my way around."

Tom grinned. "I'd say. Got any special trick you used on me back there?"

Dean shrugged. "I just had a lot of praxis growing up."

"Ah".

And with the look on Tom's face, Dean knew he had hit the nail on the head. Surprise, surprise: many people who ended up in dumps like this hadn't had the best upbringing either.

He needed to get him drunk. And fast. Or at least tipsy enough so he'd spill more about this world Dean had left behind years ago.

One hour and several whiskeys later – the bartender had seemed slightly disappointed, but had thrown him an encouraging wink – Tom was happily informing him about all the illegal gaming establishments in the area, which was more than Dean had ever wanted to know; he did his best to appear as if he was looking for the biggest possible kick, and finally, the man leaned forward and whispered, "Say, Dean – "

"Yeah?" he encouraged.

"How far would you go for that "kick" you want, pretty boy?"

"Depends".

Tom sniggered. "You wouldn't believe it anyway."

"Sometimes I believe as many as six impossible things before breakfast" Dean answered without thinking and at Tom's befuddled glance quickly added, "Believe what?"

That's what he got for actually being something of a secret reader and having become good friends with a former teacher.

Thankfully Tom had drunk too much to wonder about Lewis Carroll and how it didn't fit in with the persona Dean was trying to portray.

"Well, there's one place you can play for more than money."

"For what then? My life?" he asked jokingly to edge him on.

Tom raised an eyebrow than gestured towards himself. "How old do you think I am?"

"Mid-forties?" he guessed, his heart razing. This had to lead up to what he needed to know.

Of course this had to be the moment when he looked up and saw that Cas had found him. God damn it. He'd never hear the end of that. But maybe he'd be mellowed when he heard what Dean had found out.

"Add about thirty years."

Dean laughed. "Nice try. You're not even that close to fifty, I'd say."

"That's the point of the game."

"Wait. Are you – are you telling me you played for... eternal youth or stuff like that?"

"Nah. Not youth. But you can win extra years."

"Extra years for your life? Get younger again?"

"Exactly. But you can lose them too. That's where the risk comes in."

"You don't really expect me to believe that."

"I didn't, either. I'm not saying you have to believe me, just – you want a kick, you go to _Luggnagg_ on Swift Street and see what happens."

"Huh" Dean blinked. He had found what he was looking for.

He really should have been happier to hear it. Even if that particular hole wasn't run by Langleben, it would be someone like him who could either give them pointers or perhaps help Cas.

He chanced a glance at his neighbour and found he was sitting at the bar, looking gloomy, nursing a whiskey.

"So..." Tom leaned closer and Dean realized he had misjudged one aspect of their conversation.

Shit. This could get awkward.

"Do you want to – "

"There you are!"

Despite his frankly subpar social skills Cas had apparently picked up on what was happening and slid into a seat next to Dean.

Cas counted it as a miracle that he had found Dean so quickly. He'd simply instructed the taxi driver to let him out in a rough part of town; and through sheer luck he had found the Impala parked in a side street. He'd found the nearest bar and spotted Dean immediately.

He couldn't imagine anyone would overlook him.

"Hey Cas" he said quickly. "Sorry, forgot the time."

"I can see that."

Great. Of all the times Cas had to have a drink... Dean didn't think he'd had one in years, so naturally it had kicked right in. Thankfully he wasn't really drunk, but that spark in his eyes didn't bode well for him.

At the same time though, it provided the best escape strategy so he quickly said, "Again?"

He turned to Tom, looking (he hoped) profoundly disappointed. "Sorry. Have to get this one home before it gets ugly."

"Of course. But hey, offer's still open. I'm here quite often."

"Glad to hear it" he told him before dragging Cas out of the bar.

"What were you thinking drinking whiskey?"

"You were drinking as well, and I only had two. I forgot how it felt."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Are you good?"

He didn't expect Cas to get angry, but he snapped at him, "Of course I'm not."

Cas didn't know what brought this on. All he knew was that he had been sitting at the bar for long enough to have two drinks and watched Dean talk to someone close enough to his age to be eligible as a partner. It was ridiculous, of course; but over the past few days he had come to know Dean in a way he had never hoped he would, and he had loved every second of it.

"I'm not okay because I can't have this. I can't have you. And yet for a second, for a short time, I did, and know I have to live with the fact that I could have had love if only I'd been born later!"

"James – " Dean forced out. He'd been badly slipping up again with seeing his elderly neighbour in the man.

"Don't call me that! I like being Cas! I enjoy being Cas! I don't want to – " He took a deep breath and the fight left him as he admitted, "I don't want to find Langleben. But I know I have to."

"Same here" Dean managed to force out.

Cas – James was staring resolutely at the pavement.

"For what it's worth" Dean offered, "I found a lead."

"Oh?"

Cas couldn't deny that he was disappointed. Some part of him had hoped that this outburst would lead to a more... affectionate response from Dean.

He hated himself for it.

"What did you find?" he added as not to appear utterly ungrateful.

"There's a place on Swift Street seems like it's the kind of thing we're looking for. At least the rundown seventy-year-old I was lucky enough to run into says so."

"Seventy? He – " Cas understood and paused. "So he won?"

Dean shrugged. "Apparently. Don't think he'll do much with the years he's gained, though."

They were silent, each thinking of Dean's last remark. Cas knew he could make a lot of everything he had been given.

He and Dean could.

But it couldn't happen. He couldn't allow it to happen.

"It's not that far, actually" Dean supplied. "Won't take longer than twenty minutes to drive there – wait, how did you get here?"

Cas rolled his eyes. "There happen to be rather useful things called taxis. I called one."

"Ha ha" Dean deadpanned, "very funny. Now come on, let's get you de-cursed."

Neither of them admitted that the prospect was far from welcome.

They didn't have to.


	23. Chapter 23

Dean told himself that he wasn't driving at the exact speed limit because he didn't want to get there in the first place, but knew he was lying. Of course he didn't want to find Langleben.

It was ridiculous, really, how far gone he already was on the nerdy dude who'd managed to get caught by a crazy anti-aging poker player.

"Do you think – if it is him – that he'll just do what you want?" he asked.

Cas was looking out of the window. He shrugged awkwardly.

"He was nothing but friendly and polite when I talked to him before, but that might have been just an act."

"To get you to play and thoroughly fuck up your life?"

Another shrug. "Who knows?"

Still so trusting, Dean thought. He'd spent decades translating for gangsters of all sorts and yet he had played cards with someone in a holding cell. And then he'd allowed Dean to drag him around to speak to other criminals, perfectly content with his explanation why they should be safe.

He was starting to think that James Castiel Novak had had too much heart from the beginning.

Suddenly, he found himself wishing that he'd have kept at least one gun after Dad's death. His arsenal was about the only thing he'd really left Dean when he died, and back then he couldn't get rid of it fast enough. Sure, he could find another in half an hour, if he –

No. Aside from the fact that Cas probably wouldn't like it, Dean was done with all of that. They'd proven that they could fight their way out of any bad situation.

"Dean?"

A warm hand on his right tie, and he forced himself to remain still.

"What were you thinking about just now?"

"Just Langleben" he lied. But Cas knew him far too well by this point.

"I didn't like the expression on your face" he told him honestly. Dean stiffened. It had been a long time since he had admitted to himself that he didn't like the person he'd been while trying to fulfil his father's expectations either. But to hear that the difference could actually be seen on his face –

"Dean?" Cas gently squeezed his thigh and Dean reminded himself that he was driving and needed to pay attention to the road if he didn't want them to crash. "You should stop the car."

"We're almost there."

"But this isn't about Langleben".

"I'm fine, Cas – "

"And that's why you should stop" he told him sternly. Dean gave in when he realized what name he'd just called him by.

As soon as the car stopped, his neighbour began to speak. He hadn't removed his hand from Dean's thigh.

He didn't even feel the two whiskeys anymore. Good. He wanted to be sober for this.

"I'm saying this now because I have to – before it sounds like a grandfather thanking his grandson."

Dean smirked and shrunk away at the word "thanking".

"You are the best and most beautiful man I have ever met, and yet I know you still blame yourself for the way you and your brother grew up. But look what he grew up to be, and what you did with your life – you are amazing. And if there was a chance..."

He let his hand drift back to his own lap, trailing along Dean's thigh for a moment.

"You know what I mean, don't you?" he asked.

Dean could only nod.

Against his better judgement, he pulled him into a soft kiss. It was chaste and too short, but it was all they could have.

"Let's get this sorted out" he forced out, and Cas nodded as he looked away.

"There it is" Dean said, pulling up to a small building that looked abandoned to Cas.

"Are you – "

"Trust me, after thousand other places like this, I am. Let's get this over with."

He exited the car before Cas could say anything.

"But Dean – " he grabbed his forearm to stop him.

"What?"

Dean was clearly concentrated on their mission, now, and Cas wondered if he had worn that expression when he had looked for his father who hadn't returned after a night of drinking.

"Can we just talk about this, please? I know you want to do the talking. But please tell me what I am to expect. I don't want to accidentally do anything that might... set them off."

Dean relaxed slightly when he realized Cas didn't want to talk about them again.

"Okay, so here goes. This place is certainly illegal, so there'll be many patrons who've been kicked out of casinos, probably because they were cheating or lost all their money. They'll be desperate, and down on their luck. And most of them incredibly nervous, so rule number one is don't give any police vibes whatsoever. If they think we're cops we're pretty much done for. Also, most don't like talking to outsiders – "

"Figures. Are we going to pretend we're like them?"

"That's a problem" Dean admitted. "See, crooks know each other. And I think we're both too clean-cut."

"But they'll let us in?"

"We look like we've got a little bit money, at least, and they'll probably be intrigued if I mention we want the special treatment. They must see enough idiots seeking an easy thrill."

"It is a very dangerous game though" Cas pointed out.

Dean laughed bitterly.

"When you're young and stupid, that's often the point."

Cas nodded, choosing not to comment.

"Actually, you know what, you could keep that frown. Make it look as if you're my sensible friend who disapproves of all of this."

"And what if we spot him immediately?"

"Then you flash him your pretty blue eyes and you do you."

Cas frowned.

"Look, for some reason he chose you to play cards with when he could have targeted any police man in the station. There's obviously some form of rapport there. Use it" Dean explained flatly, as if he didn't really want Cas to find any rapport with Langeleben at all.

Cas knew the feeling.

"Shall we?"

Dean nodded reluctantly. He had little doubt that once they found Langleben Cas would get what he wanted; who could possibly say no to that face? But until they got there...

The place looked exactly as Dean had expected. Cas kept close to him.

It took about five seconds after they had closed the door behind them for someone to accost them.

"What do you want here?"

Bouncer, by the looks of it; still, Dean was confident they could take him together.

"Relax, pal. Just want a game or two."

"So who told you about us?"

"Passing acquaintance. Recommended this place to us, and a player too – Patrick Langleben. You know him, by any chance?""

The man changed colour. He'd hit the nail on the head.

"You should leave" he growled.

"Now listen to me pal, I've had a long day and I'm not about to have you stop me. We need to find the guy, so if you just – "

This was the moment he decided to take a swing at him, which resulted in the guy lying on the floor in a matter of seconds.

"Anyone else want to try?" he asked casually, meeting Cas' eyes. His neighbour was trying to hide his amusement and failing miserably.

"I don't think that will be necessary. You have made yourself quite clear.

He hadn't heard Langleben enter the room. Cas turned around and studied him. #

He had still held unto the belief that he had stolen the years from him, and that he would find an old man desperate to save his life, no matter their suspicions that he liked to surround himself with an unsavoury crowd.

But he looked just as he had in the holding cell; he was wearing the same smirk and again playing with the deck of cards in his hands.

Dean broke the silence.

"That kind of puts a hole in your theory, Cas."

Langleben rose and eyebrow as he said, "Mr. Novak. You do look considerably better than the last time we met."

"Big surprise there" Dean snapped, taking a step toward him. Cas quickly came between them, putting a hand up to his chest.

"Dean, I really think I should speak to Mr. Langleben alone."

"Are you out of your mind?!"

"Dean, please. Why don't you wait in your car? I'll be out soon, I promise."

"Cas –"

"James" he corrected him gently. "Please, Dean."

Whatever Dean read in his face, it was enough.

"Alright, but if you're not out in half an hour I'm coming back in."

He nodded and Dean left glaring daggers at Langleben.

"So I was right" the man commented. "I thought there was something in the way you looked at him."

Cas was confused. Langeleben had never seen them together before now; how could he –

"Oh, I kept myself occupied in my cell. Simple long vision spell, does wonders when nothing's on television."

"Spell?" he asked.

"Oh, surely you must have figured it out by now."

Langleben grinned.

"I'm a witch. Shall we?"


	24. Chapter 24

"I have to admit I admire your dedication. Most people would have just taken this as the gift it was."

"Gift?" Cas asked, confused.

Langleben shrugged his shoulders. "I meet enough scumbags. You were the first one that day to even be remotely civil to me apart from Officer Mills. So I decided in the spur of the moment to reward you."

"Reward me? I was – I was trying to find you. I was worried about you" Cas pointed out.

"I figured as much. You're a bit of a weird one, aren't you? I can think of better things to do – especially with that handsome son of a gun you managed to pick up."

"He's a... friend."

"Tell yourself that."

"So what?" Cas asked, his heart speeding up as he contemplated the implications of Langleben still being young. He was a witch after all. Maybe there was no exchanging of years required. Maybe it was some sort of spell. And that would mean that the years were his. His to use. His to –

"You just... made me younger?" he continued before his thoughts ran away with him.

Langleben's eyes left his as he looked down on the deck of cards in his hands. Cas' heart sank.

"Not exactly."

Cas' glance followed his.

"The poker game?"

Langleben nodded. "There are rules. I can swap years, but I can't grant or take them at will. Of course there are always loopholes – "

"You folded" Cas suddenly remembered.

Langleben nodded with a half-grin. "Like I said, I wanted to give you a gift. You were such a nice old bloke – surely you're pretty decent now, too. Green eyes seems to think so anyway."

But not even thoughts of Dean could distract him now.

"Whose years have I got?" The witch apparently didn't care – he just mustered him with a somewhat puzzled expression.

"Is it important?"

"Of course it is!" Cas exclaimed. "You can't just take years from someone and give them to me."

"I didn't "just" take them. People come to me. They want to play, feel the thrill. Sometimes I lose, but most of the time I win. They're my years to do what I want with after that."

"But people grow older and die – "

"So what? I have some principles. I take from douche bags, scum. They didn't deserve to have so long a life in the first place."

"Everyone has a right to the years he's been given. That's life."

That was it, then; he had to take the years back. Even if Langleben didn't return them – and he probably wouldn't – Cas had no right to this life. He had no right to any of it.

"And if they decide they want to gamble with them? By your logic, that would mean that they had every right to throw them away. And I assure you, I have made much more of the time I won than they ever would have."

"That's no excuse!"

Langleben sighed. "I should have known. I'm not as adept as others in seeing auras, but you do have that goody-good shoes vibe. But really, what are you trying to accomplish? I'm not going to hand them back. All you'll get is that you'll end up old – and alone."

Cas knew of course what he was talking about.

"This has nothing to do with that – "

"Oh, so you don't want to stay young and have a chance with the man pacing up and down outside?"

Cas looked away, ashamed of himself. Of course he wanted to. He had admitted that to himself days ago. But that didn't allow him to just take everything he wished for. Langleben had manipulated their game, and he'd admitted he did what he wanted when it came to playing. These weren't fair conditions.

"Look, I won't pretend those who lose don't die. Life is a cruel game, may friend."

"I'm not your friend" he stated.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Suit yourself. But, as I was saying, I'm not pretending I'm better than I am. And you're innocent, I promise. It's not like you asked for the years."

"Which is why I have to give them back."

"Your logic is flawed."

"As is your sense of morality" Cas shot back.

"I don't think so, you think you're right. I feel we're at an impasse".

"Why is this so difficult? Just take it back!"

"Really, between this and the poor guys who come to me for a quick thrill, I'm wondering why you're all chasing after death so determinately."

"It's because death is a right. We're meant to end, so we do. Therefore it becomes something we're entitled to. And you took that from me."

If he had been as through with life as he pretended to be – if he hadn't known what it felt like to touch Dean – perhaps he would have believed what he said. But sadly, his whole being still yearned for that second chance, and Langleben saw right through him.

"Why are you so determined? Maybe we should take this up with your companion – "

"Dean has just been helping me out."

Langleben snorted. "Like I said, not the best reader of auras, but what you want is bright and clear."

Cas stood still, determined to get his way. He knew what had to be done. What he wanted wasn't important.

 _And what about what Dean wants?_

No; he wouldn't allow thoughts like this to intrude. What Dean wanted was not what was best for him. He deserved a life with someone who was as young as he was, whose soul hadn't grown jaded in over eighty years.

"And anyway" he suddenly remembered, "My memory is impaired. I do not desire to live a new life on the cost of my old one."

"What do you mean?" Langleben seemed genuinely confused.

Cas explained what had been happening to him; but when he pulled out the list he had written with Dean's help, the witch laughed.

"What?" Cas demanded.

"I don't play around with people's memories. Wouldn't want any trouble, and certain... elements tend to pick up too obvious spells. You were freaking out. Dare say you're not used to that anymore, most people mellow down considerably when they're getting older."

"But..." he trailed off. How often had Dean questioned him whether he was really forgetting things or if he was only scared? This was a confusing situation to behind with, and he'd allowed himself to be led by his emotions rather than thinking clearly.

He had written the list with minimal effort. He had remembered, he had known. And Dean had helped him to calm down in the only possible way.

"See? Not so bad, is it? I have to say, you're more annoying than my other customers. At least they only whine."

It sounded like a concealed threat, but Langleben was still relaxed. If anything, their talk seemed to amuse him. It made Cas angry. He had not asked for this, even if he had known of the possibility, he wouldn't have wanted to play a game; he had made the most of (if he wanted to be ironic) the cards he had been dealt. He had never asked for more.

That he had been given it anyway...

"No" he admitted, "it hasn't all been bad."

"So why not take the rest too?"

"I have always made a point of not taking anything from others" he said simply, "not even by proxy."

Langleben studied him, a strange gleam in his eyes, and he was starting to grow worried after all when he suddenly put his cards away and clapped his hands.

"Well then. Doesn't seem like I can get you to be happy. Too bad."

He grinned somewhat manically.

"So you want to be old again?"

He threw something at Cas, and he automatically caught a small glass bottle containing a blood red liquid.

"You drink that, and twelve hours later to the minute you'll be your real age".

"Thank you" he said, even though he suddenly felt anything but.

"You're welcome – although I probably shouldn't say that. You're really ungrateful".

"I'm –" he stopped, suddenly too tired to argue. He just nodded, turned around and left.

He never knew that as soon as he had stepped out of the building, a door behind Langleben opened. The witch didn't acknowledge the other person who had entered the room until they spoke.

"We can deal with them" the Old Man offered. Langleben didn't answer. At a time, he had been impressed by his poker skills and how he led his organization, but he'd long since grown tired of the criminal.

He didn't think he'd let him have more years.

"It's not necessary. I have done everything there was to do." He paused. "Also I think it is time to move on."

"You can't – "

"I can, and you can do. We've both been in this city long enough." He glared at him. "Don't make me burn some of your cards, partner."

It was a hollow threat; the magic invoked would never have allowed him to just take away and give at will; but James C. Novak was the only one he'd ever told the truth. And he would make certain the Old Man never knew.

"Fine."

It was said calmly, but Langleben could feel the fear beneath the words.

He smiled.

Dean was going nuts. He'd barely been waiting ten minutes, and he'd already almost stormed in several times. He didn't like the looks of few of the people who'd walked by him. Maybe they were working for Langleben, who knew?

Just as he lost the last of his patience, Cas came out. He sighed in relief.

Cas walked up to him, a strange look in his eyes.

"And?" he asked as calmly as he could.

Cas held out the small vial wordlessly. Dean studied it without bothering to take it out of his hand.

"Please tell me that's not poison or anything."

"No" he answered softly. "It's a... reversal spell, so to speak. I drink it and within twelve hours..."

He didn't have to finish the sentence. Dean nodded, tersely.

"I see."

Neither of them felt like talking, but eventually his neighbour asked, "Just to be clear, you're sure this isn't a poison to keep your mouth shut?"

"No. I trust him".

It was a strange thing to say, but completely true, he realized. Despite everything, he did trust Langleben to have told him the truth. Somehow, the strange witch that must be hundreds of years old, that had decided at random to give Cas fifty years because he had been nice to him had won his trust effortlessly.

For a moment, he worried that it was some sort of magic, but he dismissed the thought. He doubted he was important enough to Langleben to warrant that much attention.

Dean nodded again.

"Better get you home, then."

During the drive, Cas wanted to tell Dean everything he had learned, but it would only lead to Dean wanting him to keep the years too, and then hating himself for it as a result; and that was something Cas didn't want. Soon enough, the old barrier would be back between them, and they would try to talk of what had happened, only for their words to get stuck on their tongue.

He would have it easier, he knew. He wouldn't have the urge to touch Dean anymore that coursed through his veins right now; while he'd undoubtedly still be in love with him, old age melted away physical sensation. At least he hoped so. He'd not been in love the first time around.

But what it would do to Dean... That was his fault, and his alone. He should never have allowed things to progress this far. The moment he'd realized Dean was attracted to him, he should have left, should have dealt with this on his own. Instead he'd dragged him along, and now he would only be hurt for it.

The car stopped and he realized they'd arrived at his house. Dean was looking straight ahead, his hands gripping the steering wheel.

The sun began to rise.

Cas didn't know how long they sat there, the light making the snow that still covered the ground glisten and sparkle.

"So when will you take it?" Dean finally broke the silence.

"Immediately" he answered because prolonging this would only lead to more pain. He could already feel the possibilities he had been carrying around for a few short days slipping out of his grasp.

Dean was still staring out of the window.

He got out of the car without a word. Cas followed him.

"So..." Dean began as they stood in front of Cas' door, rubbing his neck. "That's it, then".

He didn't know what to say, and he didn't have to since the next words out of Dean's mouth were, "Oh, screw it".

And then he was being pressed against his front door and kissed passionately, maddeningly. Before he realized what he was doing, he was kissing back, pushing his body against Dean's, clawing at his clothes.

Finally he wrenched out of Dean's hold.

"We can't – "

"Why not? You're gonna drink the damn potion, and trust me when I say I already regret enough stuff. This ain't gonna be one of them."

Cas swallowed.

"Dean..."

"Oh – shit – " Dean immediately stepped back, raising his hands. "I'm sorry, I didn't – of course you don't have to – "

And it was the despair and shame in his eyes that broke Cas. Dean was right. Why should they add another regret to a list that would undoubtedly continue to grow as long as they lived?

Dean was turning around when he caught him by the shoulder and smashed their lips together again, only stopping the kiss for whispering against his lips, "Yes".

They barely made it through the door.


	25. Chapter 25

As Dean pressed him against his living room wall, Cas remembered what he had to do and quickly pushed him off.

"Wait."

He needed to take the potion. He couldn't do this, he couldn't have Dean if he hadn't already sipped the drink that would turn him back.

He already knew he wouldn't be strong enough afterwards.

Dean was selfish. He knew that very well. And so, when he understood what Cas was about to do, he turned away. He was pretty sure he couldn't have watched him drink the damn thing. Worst case scenario, he'd try to wrestle it out of his hands.

The red liquid didn't taste like anything, and yet Cas shuddered as it ran down his throat.

He'd done it. This was it. In twelve hours, this would be over. Irreversibly so.

He threw the glass away; he could hear it shatter somewhere in the room, but didn't pay any attention to where it had landed as he pulled Dean back into his arms, all thoughts of why this was a bad idea long gone.

They kissed desperately, drowning in the feeling of finally being as close to one another as they had desired, taking a few short deep breaths when necessary.

His fingers worked their way under Dean's shirt, relishing in his warmth. Dean's mouth moved down, worshipping his neck. He groaned.

Had intimacy always felt like this? He couldn't remember. It had been so long.

It didn't matter.

He reluctantly brought some distance between them to pull Dean's shirt over his head; he immediately went to return the favour and spent a few moments grumbling about "these damn buttons" before continuing to nibble on his neck. Cas unexpectedly turned them around so that it was Dean pressed against the wall and he could explore his chest as he wished.

"Cas..." he mumbled breathlessly, clawing at his naked back.

"Come back up here – " he managed. They kissed again, and Cas, being tired of waiting, started to drag him towards his bedroom –

"Caveman" Dean murmured against his skin, biting slightly down.

"Same" Cas forced out.

They reached the bed that he hadn't shared with anyone for longer than he could remember; but then they fell in, and he forgot that he had ever been older as he was now, that there had been a time when he hadn't known Dean Winchester.

As his hands danced across Dean's skin, as he kissed him deeply, all he knew was Dean Winchester.

Dean kissed down his chest until Cas pulled him back up to devour his mouth.

They had not pulled the curtains shut and for a short moment in between, Cas stopped moving and just admired Dean's beauty. He answered with a playful grin and another nib at his neck.

He would have marks all over his body when they were done.

Cas relished the thought and tried to repay the favour.

Now and then, they pulled away slightly, barely touching, calming down so they could start over, their fingers itching to learn more, their breathing ragged, until they couldn't bear it anymore and moved close again, neither of them able to say who broke first.

Finally reaching completion, Cas couldn't say whether he was screaming or not, but either way, it didn't matter, he was overwhelmed, he was being dragged along mercilessly, and Dean was right there with him.

Afterwards, they curled into one another until it was difficult to distinguish whose limbs belonged to whom.

Cas thought that he had never been happier than in this very moment.

Soon enough, they were both fast asleep.

When they woke up they didn't speak for a while, both content to just lie in one another's arms and forget about the rest of the world.

Dean was the first to get up, happily pronouncing "Lunch!"

They were both aware that they were play-acting, pretending. Somehow the closeness they had shared had given way to a lie they were both desperate to uphold, if only for the hours that remained. For that time, Cas was just that – Castiel, called to the bedside of Dean's dying neighbour; and Dean was the helpful new friend who'd offered a hand immediately. And the one thing had led to another.

Perhaps, Cas thought, they should talk to one another. Clear the air.

But what was there to clear? Just a thing; a tiny thing neither of them had mentioned.

It was clear they would miss one another. It was clear they would have wished things to continue as they wear.

But neither of them had talked about love.

And it was this that he was feeling, lying here, listening to Dean move around as if he belonged in his house, his life. Love like he had never felt before.

Did Dean feel the same? Maybe. Probably. Hopefully –

No.

Not _hopefully_.

How much longer could Cas have? Certainly his heart would give out one of these days. Knowing this, the memories he had of Dean, brief as their time truly together had been, would bring more comfort than pain.

But Dean... He was still so young, and he felt so strongly. His emotions, despite his reluctance to talk about them, often showed openly on his face.

He didn't want him to hurt because of him, but if the way Dean had held unto him in the afterglow was any indication, that was exactly what would happen.

And yet he couldn't even regret it. How could he possibly have brought himself to? Dean was so bright, so beautiful; anyone would be drawn to him, and to have the luck to be have one's interest reciprocated –

Lost in his thoughts, he hadn't noticed Dean climbing back into bed with him. He only became aware of his presence when warm arms wrapped themselves around him and kisses were pressed against the love bites Dean had left there.

"Lunch's ready" he muttered. "We could stay here though..."

Cas laughed, and to his own surprise, it actually sounded happy and carefree.

"I think we both need some nourishment."

Dean's stomach growled. He stopped kissing Cas and sighed.

"Suppose you're right". He grinned. "Still a damn shame, admit it".

Cas playfully shoved him off the bed.

Dean was determined that this wouldn't turn into a cry fest. They might only have a few hours together, but by God Cas was hot and he was going to enjoy every last minute. Beside, this was his style, wasn't it? Live in the moment, make quick decisions and then live with the consequences? The patented Dean Winchester guide to living, so why should it bother him at all?

It shouldn't. So being happy it was.

"I hope you like spaghetti Bolognese by the way, it was all you'd got left in the kitchen – and I had to search for that."

"I do" Cas assure him as he pulled on boxers and an old t-shirt. He followed Dean in the kitchen, where the plates were already set out. He'd really miss Dean's cooking; it was always delicious; but he carefully avoided mentioning it lest Dean should offer to come over even more often to look after him.

While he would be happy if they were still friends after –

The point was, he didn't want Dean to assume the role of nurse. After this, it would feel wrong. Humiliating, even. Cas knew that Dean would never see it that way, but it didn't make it any less true.

After they had eaten, Dean stood up and reached out for him.

A few minutes later, they were back in the bedroom, getting lost in each other all over again.

Later, when they woke up after another nap, Cas glanced at his watch to see that six hours of the twelve he had left had already past.

The clock seemed to move faster with every passing second. Cas had believed that he had got used to the minutes ticking by more and more quickly through the years, but it had never felt as fast as this.

Cas wanted Dean to leave before... before. It was one thing if he should return to find Cas old again, but to force him to watch it happen...

Somehow, Dean seemed to guess. An hour before the time ran out, he let go. They had been what Dean refused to call "cuddling" on the sofa.

Dean seemed about to say something, but decided against it. Instead, he only shook his head and bent down to press a last, gentle kiss against his lips. They stayed like this, their foreheads pressed together, for several heartbeats before the young man abruptly stood up and left without a word.

Dean cursed himself for being a coward the second the door closed behind him, but he couldn't possibly have said what he'd felt at that moment. Cas was doing the right thing – he wouldn't have been Cas if he hadn't – and the last thing he needed to hear was how ridiculously cut up Dean was about this whole thing when he had no business to be.

Plus, the sex had been awesome, and he was no stranger to one night stands. So really, this was that.

Only it wasn't.

But that was his problem. He'd deal.

He always did.

This time, Cas knew exactly what was going on when he began to feel weak and sick and tired. As before, he saw no point on returning to bed. He might as well wake up to his old life where he left it only a few short days ago.

It felt like it had been years.

The last thing on his mind as his consciousness faded was Dean, no one but Dean, and how the time they had been given had not been enough, since a whole life would not have been sufficient to let him know how much he'd come to mean to him.

He woke up, his back protesting against the way he'd contorted his body as he'd slumped down on the couch. He kept his eyes closed, just breathing, remembering.

 _Dean in the car, their hearts still beating wildly from their encounter with the Old Man and his gang._

" _Can I kiss you?"_

 _Dean making him breakfast and lunch, his strong hands carefully preparing the food he insisted he needed..._

 _Dean, smiling, laughing, in his arms –_

 _Dean –_

It hurt more than he had expected it would. He finally forced himself to get up, but refused to look at the mirror or even down at himself. Not yet. Not while he could still taste Dean.

It had begun to snow, he noticed.

And soon enough, he heard the tell-tale sound of a shovel being scraped along the pavement, perhaps with more force than strictly necessary.

 _Dean._

Of course he would still clear his drive, even after... everything.

He yearned to throw open his front door and pull him into his arms, but that was no longer possible. Even if Dean would be willing to –

No. It would be wrong to bind him to someone who had so little life left in him.

He wondered if Dean would come in for his usual cup of tea, if they could save at least a sliver of what their friendship had been.

He put the kettle on without looking down at his hands. He didn't want to see the old man's hands he had slowly grown accustomed to in the last twenty years, knowing they would disgust him.

When there was a tentative knock on his door, he went to open it with a wildly beating heart.

Dean stood there, looking at his feet, shovel in hand.

"It started snowing again" he told the ground.

"I saw" Cas said, causing Dean to look up. His mouth fell open.

"Dean?" he asked as the shovel clattered down.

"Cas" he inquired, "have you looked into a mirror at all in the last few hours."

"No. Why – "

His body understood before his mind did and he hurried to look in his bathroom mirror.

He didn't look a day older than thirty-one.


	26. Chapter 26

Haven't it been like fourteen hours by now?" Dean asked, confused.

Cas nodded, equally lost, before he said, "We need to get back there. Now."

Before he got used to it. Before he started to think this was how things would end up, that somehow he got to –

They needed to leave.

"But – " Dean stopped and took a deep breath. "Okay. I'll drive."

 _Of course he will_ , Cas thought abstractedly.

It was dark, but thankfully it had stopped snowing by the time they got to the building he'd talked to Langleben in earlier.

"I should – " he tried to say when Dean got out of the car.

"Not a chance."

So they entered together.

The room the gamblers had sat in was dark and empty. Cas looked at Dean; he shrugged. Perhaps they opened later tonight. Wouldn't be the first illegal gambling place to only open their doors after midnight so not to attract attention.

"We could – "

"Are you Mr. Novak?"

They turned around to find a young man waiting for them in the shadows. Or rather, a young boy; it was easy to see that he was probably homeless. He was holding an envelope in his hands, his eyes trained on Cas.

"Yes."

"Mr. Langleben told me to give this to you. Said you should read it immediately. Oh, and..."

"Yes?" Cas prompted. Dean was watching their interaction silently, ready to pounce at any moment, should the boy decide to attack.

"I'm supposed to tell you to make the most of the hand you've been dealt". He shrugged his shoulders, then slipped away before Cas could say another word.

"What is it?" Dean asked, eying the envelope. "It doesn't feel weird, right? Like there's something in it?"

"Just paper" Cas was quick to assure him, opening it before Dean could voice more objections.

"A letter. It's addressed to me."

He read over the first lines and then quickly flew over the rest since Dean was starting to fidget next to him.

"Cas? Is everything alright?"

"I don't know" he began, feeling slightly weak. Dean tried to grab the letter, but he moved it out of the way and shook his head.

He went to one of the empty tables and sat down. Dean followed suit.

He cleared his throat and read the letter out loud.

 _Dear Mr. Novak,_

 _By now, if I'm right, the twelve hours I told you about have passed and you're still as young as you were when you left me._

 _I'm not surprised._

 _First of all, I want you to know that I didn't plan all this. I told you what I wanted – I was frustrated because I was still sitting in a cell due to the wheels of justice turning so slowly, and you were kind to me. Having been in this situation before, I can tell you it doesn't happen often that people are nice when you've been arrested. So I decided to give you fifty years. I have plenty – no matter where I go, there are always enough people around who want to play. Maybe even a hundred years is too long for ordinary humans. Why else would they get bored so easily?_

 _My point is, I have even given away years before, as I did when I folded that night. It was no big deal to me. But here's the thing – I like to check in on some I help, at least in the beginning, and when I did glance into your life, I noticed you were... looking for me._

 _Now, alright, I wasn't that surprised. Maybe you'd grown conceited and figured you could win even more years – stupid, but none of my concern. I guess if that had been true, I might have reduced you to nothing but dust when you showed up and requested another game –_

Dean mumbled something that was undoubtedly an insult, and Cas took his hand as he read on, the warmth against his palm grounding him as well.

 _But like I said, I could make out your aura when you stepped up to my cell well enough to figure out that you probably wouldn't do something like that._

 _And then I realized that you might actually be worried. That I had somehow taken on your years, and that you were trying to save my life._

 _I assure you, I haven't laughed so heartily in a long time._

"Yeah, try actually being worried, you jackass" Dean mumbled. Cas squeezed his hand.

 _So I had to decide what to do. If you were really such a Samaritan that you couldn't even leave things well enough alone, you might not even want to stay young if I explained properly what had happened, that it would make no difference if you kept the years at all._

 _There was always magic, of course._

 _Magic is complicated – and it pervades all that is and all that ever will be._

 _It knows more than humankind ever will._

 _And so I decided to let magic decide._

 _The recipe of this potion is very old, and it works through the power of the soul. It removes spells, that is true; but at the same time, if the soul be righteous, it will only do so if the effects are harmful. Now, yours is one of the brightest, most selfless, most beautiful auras I have ever seen – not unlike your friend's, I might add –_

"I bet" Dean muttered, but Cas simply continued.

 _After you had left, I decided it was time to let you spread your wings. Don't try to reverse our game – it would only lead to harm, if I were not the one to deal you another hand, and I won't. By now, I'm long gone._

 _I assure you again that all those who have gambled away their years with me have deserved it, in one way or another – as I stated before, magic has a mind of its own and it might decide that I need a lesson if I didn't adhere to a strict moral code, and I'd like to keep my good looks for a while longer._

"There you have it, Cas. Clearly delusional."

"Dean – " he started, exasperated.

"What? He's seen you. He can't possible think that he's hotter than that!"

Cas rolled his eyes as he finished the letter.

 _By the way, I made sure the Old Man and his crew leave as well. And after what he has told me, I don't think I'll play with him again. I never really liked him much anyway. I think he has had enough chances._

 _I know you'll use yours better._

 _Have fun, live your live, and if you have the chance, pour one for me. I think I deserve it._

 _P. L._

 _P.S: You should give up on cards, Mr. Novak. You're not very good at playing._

He let the letter sink and swallowed.

What was he supposed to do? He'd only found him the first time around through Dean's help, and because – as he now suspected – Langleben had wanted him to find him. If he had left, he could be anywhere.

Dean was holding his hand, rubbing comforting circles into his skin, but he needed air, and he quickly stuffed the letter into his pocket as he ran out of the room.

He took long, gasping breaths.

Magic had decided that he should be allowed to stay young – what did that even mean? That his soul was as good as Dean's? That he deserved this?

He wondered if he would ever truly accept that. Although, he supposed, he had more than enough time to try...

Ever since he had woken up in this new, second chance, he had known what he had to do. Find Langleben. Restore things to the way they had been before. But now he couldn't. And he had no idea what to do next.

"So what now?" he asked.

Dean reached out and took his hand.

"Well, you'll obviously have to do it all over again, so I was wondering..." he paused. "I mean, if you want to. You don't have too, of course, you could just – "

Cas' unsure smile grew bright and happy when he realized what Dean wanted to say. He let him get there on his pace, though.

"Not that – you don't need me around anymore, but if you wanted, not me, but – no, yeah, if you wanted, you could stay with me until you figure stuff out..."

"No" he told him simply.

"Oh" Dean's face fell and he let go of his hand. "Of course. I didn't –"

"No, Dean" he interrupted him. "I'm not staying with you "until I figure stuff out"".

Dean smiled involuntary at his use of air quotes.

"I'm staying with you period."

Dean blinked slowly.

"You mean – "

"Yes. I want to stay with you, Dean Winchester, to spend this "second chance" with you. If you want me to."

Dean grinned happily as he pulled him into his arms. In the next ten minutes, he'd only utter two words.

"Hell yeah."


	27. Chapter 27

**Twenty Years Later**

Cas squinted at the page he was supposed to proofread. He could have sworn the script hadn't used to be so small. He would have make an appointment with their optometrist and see if he needed reading glasses. This time around, he'd lasted almost ten years longer without them. He counted that as a plus.

A shriek of "Papa!" brought him out of his thoughts. He smiled. The children had been playing in the garden for a while, and he really didn't mind joining them.

He found Robbie chasing his five-year-old sister around.

"Papa!" Mary shrieked again, her big grin proving that she wasn't really scared at all, "He's gonna tickle me!"

"Oh no!" Cas exclaimed and stepped forward so Mary could slip behind his legs as he caught her brother and lifted him up, not caring even a little bit about his protests of being "a big boy" and "I'm NINE, Papa, let me go!"

"I say" Cas said and gently started tickling his sides, "Someone needs to be taught a lesson."

Robbie squirmed and laughed as Mary giggled behind him.

"No – no – "

"Promise to let your sister be?"

"I promise, I promise, just please let me down!"

Cas finally put him down on the grass as he allowed Robbie to catch his breath.

"You two having fun? Daddy's going to come home soon."

"He promised he'd make burgers!" Mary immediately exclaimed, and if Cas hadn't been so fond of his husband's cooking he might have objected more to his tendency to use a little too much meat.

"Did he now?"

"Yes" Robbie answered for his sister, nodding empathically as the almost-adult he was. Cas suppressed a smile at his sincerity.

"Alright, then. I just need to finish working – " his children's faces fell when they realized he couldn't play with them yet and Cas gathered them both in a hug "but I promise I'll hurry."

"Okay Papa" they said at the same time and then Mary was flying through the garden, having touched her brother and called out, "Tag!" Apparently being chased was alright with her as long as there was no tickling involved.

Instead of correcting the chapter, however, Cas found himself reminiscing as the late afternoon sun flitted through the open windows.

" _I can't believe it!"_

 _Cas shot Dean a weary glance. He had been sceptical from the second Dean told him that his friend Charlie would certainly believe their story and help them and all they needed was a Skype call._

 _His lover – he still couldn't bring himself to use the word boyfriend, but he guessed he would once he was used to being young again – didn't seem fazed, and was right not to be, since the redhead continued, "You get proof that magic exists, and you don't call me!? I could have helped! I could have performed spells! I could have rescued beautiful fairy damsels!"_

 _Dean snorted. "Not quite how it works."_

" _Still..." She paused and looked at Cas. "So that's your man?"_

 _Dean nodded and intertwined his fingers with Cas'._

" _Talk about a GDILF."_

" _Charlie!" Dean all but shouted while Cas looked on, slightly confused._

" _Sorry. So I guess you didn't just call to tell me my dream of attending Hogwarts is still alive and well?"_

" _No" Dean admitted. "The thing is, Cas – James – is supposed to be eighty-one years old. So he can't really live in his house and stuff – "_

" _I see. We need a new identity."_

" _Could you – "_

" _Of course I can. So you pretended to be your own grand-nephew, right? We can work with that. Get a death certificate for James Castiel Novak in the system, and you show up as the sole heir. Shouldn't raise too many questions. So. What's your name?"_

" _Castiel Patrick Novak" he replied immediately, startling Dean. He smiled. "I have a lot to thank him for."_

" _You sap" Dean mumbled as he kissed. Charlie giggled._

" _The great Dean Winchester, smitten. I like it."_

" _Shut up" he replied, blushing._

" _Do you really think this can work?" Cas asked._

" _Trust me. I'm the best."_

 _She really was the best, but it still took some time for his inheritance claim to be cleared. Meanwhile, Cas lived at Dean's (they already knew they would continue to live together, even though they weren't exactly sure where) and slowly learned a normal couple's routine, laughing together, cooking, eating meals in front of the television, making love late at night with darkness and quiet surrounding them._

 _He couldn't remember ever having felt this happy._

 _Christmas snuck upon them amidst days of Cas waiting for Dean with a ready cooked meal, having late snowball fights in the garden and acting like smitten teenagers._

 _A few days before Christmas Eve, Sam showed up at their doorstep, ready to meet his brother's new partner._

" _I'm Cas" he introduced himself. Dean was standing next to him, grinning proudly._

" _So I heard." Sam shook his hand. "You're an interpreter, right?"_

 _He nodded. "I teach, too. And I've always wanted to write a novel"._

" _He's really brainy" Dean interjected._

" _You're very smart, too" Cas said automatically, and much later, on their wedding day, Sam would confide in him that this had been the moment when he'd known he was the right one for his brother._

 _He met Benny and Charlie, as well as Dean's and Sam's honorary Uncle Bobby that Christmas too. It had been years since he had enjoyed the season so much, and he told Dean that night as the lay in each other's arms._

" _You're so corny" he whispered._

" _You love it" Cas whispered it._

" _That I do."_

 _Once he finally had inherited his own money and house, it felt like a new beginning. He finally had someone to spend his savings on, even though Dean protested when he proposed they should travel together and treat themselves to the good things in life._

" _I won't be your kept man, Cas."_

" _I don't expect you to be. I just want to enjoy my life with you – my second life."_

 _Dean sighed. "Is there any way I can get you to stop spoiling me?"_

" _None. None at all."_

 _Dean laughed and kissed him. "Right back at you."_

" _Good."_

At first, Cas had assumed that they would stick with their story of how they met; but he soon learned that Dean had neither the wish nor the inclination to keep anything from his brother.

 _He had asked Cas beforehand, of course, and he'd assured him that he was perfectly fine with telling Sam the truth; he just didn't know how he would react, and he didn't want to drive a wedge between the two brothers._

" _He might think you're crazy though" he reminded Dean._

" _In that case I'll tell him it was a joke" he promised._

 _Cas offered to accompany him, but Dean wouldn't have it. This was something he had to do on his own._

 _Even if Sam thought him crazy afterwards._

 _He had no idea how to start – he only knew that "Hey Sam, remember my gorgeous wealthy boyfriend? Yeah, he's actually older than Bobby" would probably not be a good idea._

 _But he couldn't keep this secret from Sam. Not something so big._

 _So the next time Sam came to visit, already planning on moving back once he had graduated, Cas stayed in his house while Dean made his brother burgers._

" _Is everything alright?" Sam began tentatively as he put a plate in front of him._

" _Sure. Why?"_

" _It's... Cas isn't here and I know you. I know how you look if you're pretending everything is fine."_

" _I'm not pretending – everything is fine, but I have something to tell you."_

 _Obviously it was the wrong answer because Sam's face immediately morphed into an expression of pure worry._

" _No, no, really. It's nothing bad, it's just... weird."_

" _What do you mean?"_

" _It's about Cas – he's not exactly who I told you he was."_

 _Sam waited. "I'll need a little more than that, Dean" he said when his brother didn't continue. "What is he? Drug dealer? Mafia boss?"_

" _Who do you think I'd sleep with?" Dean asked in return, shaking his head. "No – he's – he's my neighbour, Sam."_

" _I kind of figured that since he moved into his uncle's house – "_

" _No – it was his house. Has been for a long time. He's James. My neighbour, James."_

 _Sam pushed his plate away. Reached out and put his hand on Dean's shoulder._

" _Look, whatever this is , we can figure it out, Dean. I promise. How about I call Cas and – "_

" _I'm not mad. I'm telling you, he's James." Dean proceeded to tell him the truth, the whole truth._

 _At the end, Sam was silent for a long time before he said slowly, "You're not... crazy. I can tell that. You actually believe what you're saying. Which is crazy on its own, I suppose."_

" _I think we should call Cas now" Dean decided. His brother's boyfriend arrived ten minutes later, carrying the memorabilia of a lifetime._

 _And Sam had to admit that these old pictures... They looked a lot like Cas. An awful lot._

 _And he certainly knew enough stuff about this life he was supposed to have led. And when Dean offered to get Charlie on the phone, Sam knew there must be proof. Otherwise Charlie wouldn't have believed them. As much a nerd as she was, she wouldn't create a new identity for anyone who told her a cool story._

" _Alright, then" he said slowly. "My brother's boyfriend is older than both of us combined. That's going to take a while to get used to."_

" _Same here" Dean answered._

 _Sam shot him a look that told him his brother believed he hadn't needed much time to get over it. He was right, but he certainly wouldn't tell him._

 _All in all, Sam was pretty cool about everything once he had wrapped his head around it. And if he had to live with grandfather jokes for the rest of his life – well, that was a price Dean was more than ready to pay._

 _With the credentials Charlie had given him, he might easily have obtained another teaching position, but instead he opted to become an interpreter once more – and to write._

 _All his life, he had wished to write, but always the words and stories had eluded him._

 _Now that he got to write them against Dean's warm skin at night, they came easy._

 _His first book was a bestseller, hailed as "one of the most poignant love stories in recent memory." Dean dragged him to their bedroom and showed him just how much he loved it himself._

 _They married seven years later, having travelled all over the world and wishing to show everyone they belonged together._

 _It was Sam who first asked the question._

" _So, am I going to be an uncle soon?"_

" _In case you have forgotten, Sammy, we don't exactly have the right parts."_

" _There are other ways, Dean" he pointed out. He was right, of course._

 _And later, much later that evening, when Dean nuzzled his neck and asked the question, he knew exactly how to answer._

 _They had squabbled about whose sperm to use at first, since both insisted that they wanted the other to do it until Cas had shaken his head and said, "We'll just have to have more than one."_

 _And so they did. He'd never been a father in his first life, and he soon found that his work as a teacher had not prepared him for the challenge in the least. But with his husband beside him, and their children being amazing, at least in their humble opinion, they made it work._

 _At his officially forty-ninth birthday party, Dean wrapped his arms around him and whispered, "Happy one hundredth birthday, Cas." He smiled and kissed him._

Cas shook himself out of his memories and realized he wouldn't get more work done today, so he went to join his children in the garden.

So it came that his husband found them in the middle of a tickle fight when he returned from the shop he had eventually opened after specializing in restoration. He stood for a while observing them, grinning brightly, until the children noticed him.

"Daddy!" Mary squealed, running into his arms, "Now you can make burgers!"

"And what else, Mary? What does Papa always tell you to eat as well?"

She made a face. "Vegetables."

"That's right."

"But you don't like them ether" Robbie interjected with all the wisdom almost a decade on earth could bring.

"That's because your daddy doesn't know what is good for him" Cas commented as he strolled over to give his husband a kiss to welcome him.

Dean huffed. "Of course I do, silly. I'm looking at him."

"Stop that, we're not teenagers anymore."

"I know, Grandpa" he teased him as he went into the kitchen followed by their two children.

Cas stayed behind and watched the bees buzzing around the garden for a moment, breathing in the fresh air.

Sometimes he missed the house where he had first met Dean, but neither had ever regretted moving close to Sam and Sarah when they had found a home after their studies.

Plus, they still owned his old retirement home, always keeping it in good repair.

Maybe, eventually, it would become one again.

Only when they were ready, of course.

And whenever it would happen, this time he wouldn't be alone.

He smiled at the thought of watching Dean turn into a silver fox; already he'd discovered a few grey hairs on his husband's head.

Dean was teaching Mary and Robbie how to best make a burger when he entered the kitchen noiselessly.

"Sarah called" he told Dean, "We're invited to dinner tomorrow."

It wasn't really necessary to make arrangements, not when they practically lived door to door to each other, but the children liked it so they had something to look forward to, and Cas suspected his beautiful Dean, for his fifty years still as young a soul as he had been when they first met, agreed with them.

"Great. Would you like to see your cousins?"

Robbie sighed exaggeratedly. "Dad, we see them every day."

"That doesn't make it any less special, though, doesn't it?"

Robbie gave him his patented I don't know how to deal with adults look. Dean chuckled and ruffled his hair. "Now, help me with the meat, big boy."

Later that evening, after the children had been brought to bed, Dean and Cas sat on the porch, drinking wine. Cas was currently trying to decipher the small print on the bottle, but put it back, sighing.

"I think I need reading glasses."

"Oh?" Dean thought about it. "You looked really cute with them when you were older."

Cas snorted. "I bet."

"Aw, Cas, thinking about getting a few extra years?"

"Never" he said simply, leaning over and kissing Dean, "I have everything I need to feel young right here."

 **The End**


End file.
